


The Mask of Death

by stuffilikeiwrite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, star wars post rots
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Angst, BAMF Darth Vader, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Darth Vader Has Issues, Drama, Gen, Horror, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Mentioned Darth Vader, POV Darth Vader, Sad Darth Vader, Thriller, Violence, not even the younglings survived, revealing the horror of his character, vader through the eyes of others and himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffilikeiwrite/pseuds/stuffilikeiwrite
Summary: She heard the breathing before she saw him. The room dark, black as night. Empty, cold enough to chill her skin; to turn her own breath to mist as she exhaled.
Comments: 128
Kudos: 106





	1. The Mask of Death

She heard the breathing before she saw him. The room dark, black as night. Empty, cold enough to chill her skin; to turn her own breath to mist as she exhaled. Her lip trembling. Heavy steps. Slow, confident. Menacing. She was the prey, a mere plaything to the predator hunting her. 

The mechanical rasp ringing in her ears. Getting louder, steadfast and even. Calm, contrasting the frantic pounding of her own heartbeats. Her hands shaking as she held her weapon high in defense. Off turned, another fatal flaw of her attempting to remain silent. He _knew_ she was there, but she liked to believe that as long as everything was dark, he would not see her.

Her eyes frantically scanned her surroundings, attempting to use her peripheral to detect any movements. All she could sense was the dread, the overpowering presence of the Dark Side. Closing in on her, squeezing the air out of her lungs until she had to swallow a gasp. He was closer now. Slowly, she made a silent circle, attempting to locate her assailant. Her _assassin_. 

To no avail, she found herself blinded by darkness. She swallowed hard, clammy hands gripping the hilt of her light saber tight. Holding it close to her chest, over her heart. As if it would serve her any good. Was he even moving at all? Was he hiding from her?

That’s when she saw it. The light. Tiny, blinking red and green hues. Reflecting off of the dura-steel surface covering the walls around her, the floors. The tidal, rhythmical inhales and exhales. They made the hairs at the back of her neck rise, her eyes watering against her will. Her heart already sinking into her stomach. She focused her blurring vision on those foreboding lights; mouth dry. Every muscle in her body strained, trying so desperately not to reveal her own terror. A loud, dense thud and the following gust of cold air rushing past her form. Ruffling her hair, tears trailing down her cheeks as she blinked rapidly. He was _right behind_ her.

“You are afraid.”

The voice was powerful, booming. Resolute, speaking with a determined knowing. She couldn’t reply, unable to move. Unable to turn to face the monstrous visage. Some said he was a man, once. Rumors foretold that he may have been a fallen Jedi. She could not believe them. There was nothing human about this presence, no mercy or compassion. No caution or care for life, or for the Force itself. 

She felt the temperature go down, faster now. Her fingertips were numb, hands almost frozen to the saber in their frantic grip. Her legs beginning to quake beneath her weight, beneath the strain of her taut muscles. She felt the satisfaction simmering, seeping into her mind; into her core. It didn’t belong to her, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block it out.

“I shall make your death swift, if you reveal to me what I wish to learn.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she croaked, voice broken and high pitched.

Chin wobbling, she heard him move closer. Another step. And another. And another, until the rasps of his breathing seemed to make her temples throb. The cold was unbearable. She had seen Hoth, had seen ice and snow and storms burying entire base camps. This was different; this was cold was _piercing_ ; cutting and leaving a searing pain in her stiff joints. She refused to speak. What little she knew, if anything of use to him, would stay with her.

“Do _not_ attempt to deceive me, traitor.”

So mechanical, so monotone - except for that sinister, underlying tone of malice that was amplified by the Dark Side. Hands shaking uncontrollably, she held her thumb ready over the power button to her saber. She knew she wouldn’t need to use it; another tear rolling down her now streaked, freezing cheeks where it immediately turned to ice. Frostbite covering the tender skin. She couldn’t have spoken another word, had she wanted to. Her tongue wouldn’t respond, her lips moving but no sound coming forward. Opening her eyes again, she saw the lights reflecting in her own tears.

“Very well. Your foolish bravado serves you no leniency with me.”

“I know _nothing_ ,” she finally managed to sob, an uncomfortable sensation of her throat closing in beginning to take hold; making it difficult to breathe.

Then, despite her intent on staring straight ahead - of avoiding giving him the pleasure of seeing her broken facade - she felt her own neck begin to crane. She held back, used all the power in her to fight against the pull. It wasn’t her own, she couldn’t control or stop it. All her feigned bravery evaporated, all her assumed; naive hopes that perhaps, she might be _spared_.

Inch by inch, waves off what could only be delight in her terror rolling off of the monster behind her. The monster waiting to pounce and devour her. A choke noise of protest leaving her as the constricting of her windpipe tightened; her head clutched in an unseen vice.

“Open your eyes,” commanded the voice.

Against her will, her eyelids snapped open. Her pupils blinded at first by the beeping lights. No longer a reflection, but shining from a monitor. Eye level with her; she tried to gasp but found that no air could reach her lungs. She choked again, still without success. The outer rims of her vision beginning to darken, to fade, as she looked up. Hands losing their hold on her weapon as it slipped out of her hands; out of her grasp. It hit the floor with a shrill thump. 

And she looked up. 

Up. 

_Up_. 

At the mask of Vader. 

At the mask of _death_.


	2. The Phantom That Breathes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t real. _He_ wasn’t real. He was supposed to be a myth, a legend, a bed time story. To scare the rebels into line, a lie for Imperials to spread on the street. For the masses to share, to make it seem like a reality. He wasn’t supposed to _exist_ , wasn’t supposed to be an actual entity. He shouldn’t be, and yet there he was. Or, in honesty, it was probably more the fact that no one _wanted_ him to be real.

This wasn’t real. _He_ wasn’t real. He was supposed to be a myth, a legend, a bed time story. To scare the rebels into line, a lie for Imperials to spread on the street. For the masses to share, to make it seem like a reality. He wasn’t supposed to _exist_ , wasn’t supposed to be an actual entity. He shouldn’t be, and yet there he was. Or, in honesty, it was probably more the fact that no one _wanted_ him to be real.

Clad in black, face covered by an emotionless dark death mask. Tall, broad shouldered, towering over his peers. Intimidating by size, cape falling swiftly behind him as he walked in a confident, casual stride. Each step long, making the young admiral by his side stumble and half jog to keep up with the pace. The echoing of his mechanical, rhythmical breathing echoing and drowning out the buzzing and beeping of data pads and monitors. He had yet to speak a word, as the young admiral continued to recap the events of the latest rebellion strike on an Imperial base.

He stopped then, looking out the front window of the star destroyer into the dark of space. Folded his arms across his chest, defiant. The admiral immediately silenced, clearly at a loss for words. The room had gotten strangely cold, a chilly sensation passing through the stomach of every staff member residing there. Numbing their fingers, their toes. Leaving their faces ice kissed and flushed. Goosebumps covering their skin, and they shuddered in their seats. The admiral’s shoulders came up, and he was wrapping his arms around himself.

“Lord Vader?” he croaked after what seemed to be an eternity of nothing, voice trembling.

Vader did not reply. He simply kept his gaze locked on something in the distance, something within the clusters of stars ahead. His breathing device as punctual and periodic as ever; not a soul within the room daring to speak a word. None of the usual hushed whispers or muffled giggles, none of the camaraderie of the coworkers to pass time. _Only Vader’s inhales, Vader’s exhales._

“Who was in command during the attack, admiral?”

When Vader finally spoke up, his voice was deep and booming. Loud, seeming to resonate within the four walls. Bouncing off of the dura-steel surrounding them, amplifying its intent. Another shiver passed through the crew members, all of them attempting to keep attention on their work duties. All of them peering over their shoulder. They were all freshmen, new recruits. Had barely been station for a couple of weeks. Some more seasoned members spoke of Vader, dared barely whisper his name for fear of conjuring him up. Some had never even seen the man. None of the current staff knew if that would have been a blessing or a curse.

“General Sarkk, milord,” stuttered the pale faced admiral, his eyes scanning the side of Vader’s mask frantically; wavering and unable to hold still for too long.

“It is the second time he _fails_ to fulfill his duties accordingly.”

Vader’s voice, full of animosity despite it being almost monotone. It was clear that General Sarkk’s days were numbered, from the way the tall figure drummed his gloved fingers against his bicep. Impatient, slow motions. The admiral gulped audibly, several of the crew members catching the choked sound.

“Yes, milord.”

“He is of no use to the Empire, if he cannot defend his own stationary base.”

A harsh statement, but no one dared dispute it. The fact that Sarkk had even been offered a second chase after his last failed mission was a small miracle. Apparently, Sarkk had been working in close contact with Moff Tarkin for years and was therefore awarded with some lenience - as per the Emperor’s orders. Despite Vader - spoken of as a ghost or a monster to intimidate - being rumoured to have offed numerous failing employees. Now, it was easy to see why, and easy to believe in those rumours.

“What is his current location, admiral?”

“I, uh - the Sierra star system, milord. But, I believe he’s available on Coruscant for the time being. He - he’s been invited to attend the senate meeting, and their subsequent debate.”

“ _Indeed_. And you are certain of his whereabouts?”

“Yes, milord.”

“I see. It appears we have our destination.”

Another chill, running down the spines of the staff. There seemed to be a playful, almost amused undertone to the word. As if Vader was looking forward to taking the general’s life, to punish him for his mistakes. Another tidbit often added to the stories; that of Vader’s non-existent sense of compassion. He showed no mercy, held _no remorse_.

“Captain.”

As soon as it was said, a clear demand of full attention, Captain Cilla was up on her feet. Approaching in a hurried, subordinate manner and giving a curt, well practiced bow as she stopped on her heel. She was by no means a big woman, and next to her, Vader seemed nearly a giant. He tilted his head only briefly to the side, as if studying her posture. She remained unwavering, arms at her sides; feet close together. Unlike the admiral, she was good at hiding any fear she might harvest. Surely, Vader would appreciate the effort.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” she said, no hint of trembling to her voice.

“Set the coordinates for Coruscant, we are travelling to the inner rim,” said Vader, pointing his index finger threateningly at her face.

“As you wish, milord.”

“I shall see to Sarkk personally upon landing.”

Another nod of agreement from the captain, as she waited patiently to be dismissed. The danger of turning your back on Vader without permission _surely_ something she too had been well informed of. Keeping her head hung low in respect, she waited as Vader remained silent for a moment, the hollow black eyes of his mask still on her. Then, he slowly turned on his heel towards the young admiral. The man all but forgotten, arms still around himself to stay warm - or _perhaps_ to restrain any quivering, so as not to betray his own _fear_. His chin was visibly wobbling, his breath coming out as mist through his nostrils. As was the captain’s.

“Admiral Junta. Are you a fresh recruit?”

The boy seemed taken aback by the sudden attention, clearly jolting in surprise. Wincing, shoulders tensing up. He looked up, and nodded an affirmative; forcing his arms down to his sides to match the captain’s stoic stance.

“Ah - yes, milord.”

“You have something on your mind. You wish to implore me, are you questioning my capabilities?”

“No! No, of course not Lord Vader,” gasped the young man, eyes wide with terror as he vehemently shook his head in denial. “I would never, milord.”

“Your thoughts betray you. _Do_ enlighten me, admiral.”

Vader sounded almost amused, as if he was somehow taking delight in every word he spoke. As if he was thrilled to terrify the hapless freshly promoted boy.

“I - just - the Emperor himself resides on Coruscant, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t he have adequate and sufficient staff to see to his needs on location, without you needing to bother yourself, milord?”

There was a long pause, as Vader seemed to regard the man. Staring into his soul, as Junta grew all the more uncomfortable. Had he been a lesser, weaker man, he may have pissed himself. There had been instances of cadets losing control of their bladders. Rumours, of course. Yet, it was said that Vader did hardly find anything funny about the offensive response to his stature. Those cadets would never see a promotion, much less another day.

“When were you assigned to the commando bridge?” said Vader finally, as if contemplating.

“Fourteen days ago, milord,” stuttered Junta, gaze once again wavering as he struggled to meet Vader’s gaze through the dark lenses.

“I would have assumed as much. You ought to _pay heed_ to your superiors. Learn to know your place, _boy_. I shall _not_ be as forgiving, come future encounters. Consider this an act of mercy, I do not take kindly to your kind.”

Everyone could swear they felt the wave of terror coming from the young man, as Vader’s accusatory finger point landed on his face. Washing over them, watching how his face went deathly pale; ashen and white as snow. Watched how he bit his bottom lip to still its persistent quivering. As he bowed lightly, to offer his apology. He almost appeared as if he was about to tear up and cry.

“Of course, milord.”

Vader simply turned back to the captain, and waved a dismissive hand at Junta; clearly paying no heed to the fright he’d just given him - or perhaps, he was just satisfied with the reaction he’d spurred. Rumour said; Vader tended to be sadistic and revel in intimidation tactics.

“Very well. Now, you are dismissed. Return to your position, admiral. As for you, captain, you have my orders. Do as you are requested. You, too, are dismissed.”

“As you wish, milord.”

Cilla turned on her heel, as swiftly as she had when approaching, and immediately headed back to her position to write in the appropriate coordinates for Coruscant. The route would take a couple of hours, at best. If the staff had expected (or secretly _hoped_ for) Vader to vacate the area in favour of returning to his own quarters, they had been gravely mistaken. Where even were his quarters anyway? Did he have any? With the way he had remained an unknown passenger for at least twenty four hours since last docking, he might as well have been a phantom.

The aura of darkness seemed to vibrate, the sensation of something heavy weighing down on everyone’s shoulders remaining intact as the sinister figure stayed in place. Turning back towards the window, going back to staring aimlessly into the void of space ahead. Breaths still steady, still mechanical. Tapping of data screens and keypads, beeping of monitors as a background soundtrack accompanying Vader’s eerie presence. Focused, as if lost in his own mind. Not that anybody would dare approach without permission; Junta lingering cautiously by the farthest away console he could locate. Still on edge.

When they eventually - finally - had time off; they would all be left rattled. Shaken. As if they had witnessed something supernatural, something impossible to explain. But they would all know. Vader was not just a story, made up to frighten trajectories and traitors. He was _real_. If flesh and blood, they could not say. But he breathed, so he must be alive.

And in his wake, _no one_ felt very _safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is chapter two of the fic. Some touch-ups have been done since I posted it on tumblr. Enjoy!


	3. Crimes of Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some said he was human once, some said he was a droid. Some said he was both, forged into an unholy union of twisted flesh and scrap metal. Anybody who remembered the faded Jedi religion and their use of the Force, would know he was a living being. Perhaps sustained by forced respiration, but _alive_ none the less. They would _feel_ it.

The dark clad, prowling inforcer of the Empire. Lurking in the shadows. The Emperor's right hand, _scourge of the earth_ at his beck and call. Terror to anyone daring to openly oppose him. Anyone bold - _or stupid_ \- enough to defy him. Clad in black, cape trailing behind him like some sort of royal mockery. Like an attempt at tarnishing the prestiged part of the population, making a joke out of them. Some said he was human once, some said he was a droid. Some said he was both, forged into an unholy union of twisted flesh and scrap metal. Anybody who remembered the faded Jedi religion and their use of the Force, would know he was a living being. Perhaps with forced respiration, but alive none the less. The would _feel_ it.

Leia had learnt from an early age what to expect, the day she'd eventually come face to face with the mask of terror. Her father, senator Bail Organa, had always been opposed to the Empire. Had always been fighting in favour of re-institutionalizing the old Republic. He spoke behind closed doors of former Jedi he'd considered his friends, his allies. Brave men and women who had fought for what was right, despite the shortcomings that had doomed them. Sometimes, he'd mentioned names, but only for Leia's ears to hear. Obi Wan Kenobi. Master Yoda. Mace Windu. _Anakin Skywalker_. She had heard them often, had memorized them. Knew the Emperor was behind the purge, a purge carried out by Darth Vader. Knew _Vader_ had been the one to _slaughter_ the peace keepers.

Now, as she stood poised before the tall, masked figure in black - she bit back the anxiety brewing at the pit of her belly. Ignored it, willed it away. She had already been introduced to Grand Moff Tarkin before - had had the _displeasure_ of serving as his dinner partner through her legislature. He was a cruel, calculating old man. She had briefly caught a glimpse of Grand Admiral Thrawn in the hallways on the senate building, her heart sinking as she fought to walk with dignity and raise no suspicion. She was only to be a senator in training, to the eyes of the Empire. She was used to the uncomfortable company of high ranking Imperials.

Still, Vader loomed over her. Stuck out like a sore thumb, and enigma of sorts. Standing at almost twice her height; making her feel smaller than ever, her short stature not helping. Still, she held her back straight and puffed out her chest. Head tilted slightly backwards, eyes cold and face hard set. Hands clasped in front of her hips, refusing to look away. She looked the part of the pampered princess, in her flowing gown and intricate updo. Vader had been the one to halt her, stepping out in front of her path to stop her. _Deliberately_ holding her up. Not a word spoken, not _yet_. Still, the somewhat eerie sound of his breathing mechanism gave Leia goose pimples. She was thankful for her long sleeves covering most of her arms from view.

" _Princess Organa_ , I presume."

His voice was loud, deep and powerful. Rumbling from a powerful chest, it seemed. Matching the imposing visual. The red tinted lenses of his face mask hollow and empty. _Lifeless_. Impossible to penetrate or peer through, but Leia was convinced he was holding her gaze. She could feel the cold of his overpowering aura bear down on her. Suffocating her, closing in around her like an intrusive physical touch.

"Indeed. _Darth Vader_ , I presume," she replied, her stoic expression bravely matching his.

For a moment, all was silent. All but Vader's steady, even breaths. Leia felt her shoulders tense up, and she clasped her hands just a little tighter together. She _wasn't_ going to be intimidated by Vader. Her father had taught her better than that, had taught her to hide any apprehension around the man. Told her Vader could feel people's fear through the Force, that he _fed off of it_. In fact, he seemed almost taken aback by the girl's unusual nerve; by her sheer power of will. She wondered how often anybody dared to use the same approach right back at him.

"You are as impudent as your father. It would be wise of you to _learn your place_."

So, she _had_ caught him off guard - if the thinly veiled growl was anything to go off of.

Leia pursed her lips, fine eyebrows furrowing momentarily. She hated the way Vader, or any Imperial, spoke of her father. Never appreciating his hard work, always belittling his efforts. It made her furious, made her chest feel tight with rage. She took just a moment to recompose herself, her temples pounding.

"I _know_ my place."

" _I_ do not entertain the same impression."

"I don't doubt that."

"Such insolence, it is not befitting for a _royal_ , or a future _senator_ \--""

"Why did you stop me?"

She didn't know where the words had come from - almost intercepting and cutting the hulking figure off, dismissing him completely - and a shudder of something akin to weariness ran down her spine, as she watched Vader shift slightly. Watched how he folded his arms across his chest, making himself look even bulkier. Bigger. The hallway wasn't made for a man his height, as the top of his polished helmet nearly grazed the ceiling. He was indeed a threatening figure to look upon, but Leia blocked any distress out.

"Presumptuos as well, I see. I have good reason to suspect foul play, _Princess_ ," the way he punctuated the word **'princess'** vile and full of _venom_. "I do not yet have enough evidence, but every trail leads to the Alderaanian royal court. Perhaps, you may hold information you're willing to share."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Leia scoffed, more indignant than she should be as her heartbeat picked up its pace. "And even if I did, what makes you think I would tell _you_ anything?"

How much did he know? Was he only toying with her, attempting to get her to slip up, or did he actually _have_ evidence of her father's ties to the rebel forces? She refused to dwell on that now.

"Self perseverance, the simple the impulse to _survive_. Your reputation precedes you. As does your father's. His days are numbered, _Princess_. You would be wise to offer the Emperor your assistance, would your name turn out to appear on the growing list of felon Rebel spies."

"With all due respect, I'm not even considered an adult on Alderaan as of yet, what makes you think I would be at all involved with my father's affairs, whatever they may be?" 

By now, Leia felt her heart pounding almost painfully hard against her ribcage, and she had resorted to nervously picking at one of her long nails. There was a lump in her throat, constantly threatening to turn into a ball of tears. She didn't even notice it herself, peering past Vader's form for a brief moment but finding they were still very much alone in the crisp, white hallway. No leeway, no one to interrupt the dangerous conversation.

"I knew Senator Organa long before you were even conceived, Princess. If there's one thing I'm assured of, it's that if he _were_ part of the Rebel Alliance - of which I am convinced - he would have initiated _you_ as soon as you learnt how to form proper words."

Vader wasn't wrong, not _entirely_ , and Leia felt herself almost wince. His words cut like a knife. She wasn't sure whether to believe him; knew her father had warned her of him possibly trying to warp her head, would she run into him. The weight of his stare was even harder to bear now, making her body feel heavy and strained. As if she was struggling to carry a burden that wasn't hers. And it was cold. She hadn't realized just _how cold_ , until she realized her silk dress wasn't enough to keep her freezing hands from trembling. She hid it as well as she could, refusing to let Vader think she was afraid. Even if she was.

"If that's true, it still changes nothing. I know nothing of your rebel spies," the girl muttered, not realizing she was being hostile or improper; simply annoyed and _desperate_ to end this interaction.

"Your disrespect is unbecoming of you, Princess. All I need is the final piece of the puzzle, and I'll have enough substance to convict Organa of treason against the Empire."

"You will find _nothing_."

Leia narrowed her dark doe eyes, her tone icy and vicious. Mirroring the one VAder had used on her previously. She should be terrified, should be shaking in her boots - and somewhere deep down in her core, she was a frightened little girl wanting to curl up under her blanket in bed and make the _monster_ disappear. Yet, all she wished to was to see this serpent of a man torn down and stripped of power. She _knew_ he had blood on his hands, knew her father's cause for the Rebellion was in her future. She wanted freedom, wanted her father to live to see the day where there would be no danger in opposing the figure heads of the galaxy.

"An unwise decision, Princess. I shall ask you one final time, the Emperor will _not_ offer you the same leniency."

"I know nothing, _Lord Vader_ ," she simply stated, her dark eyes fixed on the emotionless structure of Vader's skull esque mask. "Now, will you let me attend the meeting? I'm already running late."

"As stupid as you are discourteous. Do _not_ believe you will slip unscathed through the trials."

Vader's booming tone sounded impatient; angry. He was snapping too now, one of his large hands coming up to point an accusatory index finger right at her face - and for a brief moment, Leia feared she might have crossed the line _too far_. She was of course mostly safe due to her title, but _how_ far did that safety net reach? For but a second, a glimpse of insecurity crossed her face before she mastered it. Disguised it. She raised her eyebrows, feigning an offended scowl while waiting for Vader to move out of the way. Waiting to be let through. Either that, or for him to _strike her down_.

Finally, the tall figure appeared to give in, as he stepped aside for her to pass him. His long cape swooping over the floor, heavy steps echoing down the hallway. He seemed to be ready to leave her without another word, to spare himself any further agitation, and Leia relaxed. She let out a breath through her nose she hadn't known she'd been holding, lowering her eyes to the floor as she proceeded to attempt to hurry out of his reach. Out of that confining, _smothering_ aura. She only glanced at him, as he stood immobile while she fought to keep a dignified slow stride when she walked on by. When he was out of her peripheral view, she let the tension of her shoulders pour off of her.

"Do not _pretend_ you are not afraid, Princess. Impudence is an unflattering facade to hide behind."

Leia froze dead in her tracks, her heart sinking into her belly at the sound of the rumbling warning. 

_Foreboding_ ; an amused undertone simmering underneath like a dark ocean current. Was he _entertained_ by her contempt? She heard his footfalls, as he began to ascend down the opposite end of the hallway. Heard the breathing as it became distant, and eventually faded away. It was only then that she dared turn to look over her shoulder, finding she was left to her own devices. As if the oppressing companionship she'd had moments ago was nothing but a figment of her imagination. She swallowed hard, shook her head. She _would not_ be afraid. Vader was _wrong_. He might frighten anybody else, but _not her_. She knew better.

_Still_ , the way in which her legs threatened to buckle under her as she scurried towards the automatic doors betrayed her admitted hubris.


	4. Ashes and Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people would believe Vader was nothing but an expertly crafted droid; that he was impenetrable and unstoppable. That he had no heart, not humanity, _no soul_. Teel knew better. Especially now, as the dust settled on the battlefield.

Captain TL-440 - often called _Teel_ for short - had never seen the man quite like this. It was an awe striking sight, a terrifying reminder of the fact that despite his Force powers; Vader was _just as mortal as the rest of them_. 

Some people would believe Vader was nothing but an expertly crafted droid; that he was impenetrable and unstoppable. That he had no heart, not humanity, _no soul_. Teel knew better. Especially now, as the dust settled on the battlefield. The air fuming with thick black smoke, the fire scorching what was left of blown up AT-AT:s. _Bodies everywhere_. Some familiar; squad members perished in the brutal fight. Some rebels; their uncovered faces locked in terror.

Teel himself had come out fairly unscathed. He’d been assigned to a defensive position at the back, rather than the usual offensive. Thinking about it now, he couldn’t see any traces of the commander who’d executed to order. Sure, somebody had figured it’d be a good idea to cut his side open. It stung like a bitch, but it _wouldn’t kill him._

Unlike several of his fellow troopers, who laid strewn about all around him. Gaping holes in their chests; missing limbs impossible to relocate. He heard someone coughing in the distance; the hacking gulps of someone suffocating on their _own_ blood. 

In the beginning, it had made Teel sick. Nauseous, cold sweat wetting his forehead. Sometimes he’d find himself throwing up, wondering how he was ever going to get used to the sight. These days, after all the battles he had seen, he felt little more than pity. Pity for the poor bastards who weren’t _lucky_ enough to get a shot to the head.

_How many survivors were there even?_

Teel had counted ten plus two so far. 

_Was that it?_

They had been a thousand men strong when they left the cruiser for the DX transport. The officers and admirals paying them little attention, thinking them _disposable_. Teel _despised_ the stuck up, spoilt Imperial overheads; how little regard they had for their subordinates. _Vader_ was different. Vader had _always_ been different.

Vader was on _their side_. He fought alongside them, trudged through the war zone; often up ahead, leading them on. Fearless, taking damage. Pressing on, never faltering. Never wavering. It was no secret that Vader felt the same _contempt_ towards the Moffs who preferred to sit in their pampered palaces and beach houses; sipping wine as their slaves saw to their needs while their troops were _mowed down_ by enemy forces. Vader, for all that he was, seemed to think of the troopers as individuals. Seemed to recognize that they were people. Seemed to even _respect_ some of them.

Teel himself had done battle with Vader enough times, that he knew they both appreciated the other’s efforts. That’s why he dared approach Vader in this moment. When the rest of the surviving squad members withdrew, retreated back in fear. Knew that in this state, Vader may be lethal even to _his own men_. 

Still, Teel had faith in the man who would dare gamble with his own life alongside theirs. The man who was - despite what governor Tarkin and his fellowship thought - second only to the _Emperor_ in power. Highest command; and yet _here he was_ , on the bottom of the ladder with the ground forces.

Vader’s cape was tattered. Not much left of it; gaping still sizzling holes left by blaster shots and vibroblade slices. Boots caked with mud and drying blood, splinters digging into the shins. Wires exposed from his chest monitor; electrical bolts sparking on and off in varying intervals. His hands were curled into tight fists. One still clutching the hilt of his light saber, the other exposed for what it was - _cybernetics and metallic bone imitation_. Chest armour cracked; robes in shambles.

But there was _one thing_ that Teel noted above all. Among the embers of burning bodies, burning equipment; he noted the tears in Vader’s undersuit. And he spotted _blood_. Crimson red, _human blood_ soaking through Vader’s bicep. Through the left side of his upper torso. 

Beneath the mass of torn fabric and ruby smudges; there was _skin_. Ghostly pale skin, human _flesh_. Teel didn’t say anything, simply watched in amazed silence. Listened to the still rhythmical, still steady breathing mechanism of Vader. It was a wonder that that seemed to have taken little damage.

“Are you ready to retreat, Lord Vader?” Teal finally composed himself enough to ask.

“Not _yet_.”

Vader’s booming vocals were as commanding as ever, an undercurrent of suspicion and wariness seeping through. Teel trusted his judgment, he _knew_ Vader’s powers as a Force wielder granted him almost _supernatural_ senses and insight. It had helped save their lives when tactics failed several times in the past. 

Still, Teel let his dark eyes hidden by his own helmet trail back to the oozing dark blood. Vader was just a _mortal man_. Powerful, unstoppable, like a hurricane. But it struck him then, more than ever, that Vader could _die_. Could be _bested_. He didn’t want to dwell on that. Instead he stood immobile beside the dark, towering figure. 

Vader seemed focused on something far off in the distance, standing perfectly still as if he hadn’t even noticed he’d been injured. That he was bleeding, and battered, and bruised, and probably needed a pretty good repair job done on his suit. The deep gashes in his chest piece just above the wound smudged and scraped by vibroblades. By blaster fire. By ashes, and dust, and mud. Red liquid lazily making its way down towards the exposed cybernetic arm; _crimson fluid clinging to mechanic silver_ making for a jarring contrast.

“Whatever survivors there are have departed. They have lost more men than we have,” said Vader finally; tone sounding almost relieved.

Now _that_ was rare. 

Vader never seemed to care to stop, always seemed to want to push onward. To get the job done. Still, Teel figured that even _he_ must be feeling the exhaustion and the pain of his injuries as the adrenaline rush of combat wore off. He didn’t doubt that Vader could have gone on, had another wave of rebels set course for them; but Teel found he was releasing a heavy breath of relief. There was always a possible _what if_ scenario. And he didn’t enjoy the idea of trudging on without Vader at the helm.

Slowly, Vader began to turn his back on the setting sun; as the crackling flames little by little became the only light in the dark of night. Switching off his lightsaber to hook it to his belt. He was still standing tall, not even a limp to his slow steps. Movements _perhaps_ a bit more sluggish than usual, but otherwise he seemed stoic and straight forward as ever. Seemed to take it in a stride.

Teel watched as Vader paused and brought his gloved fingers up to the thoroughly soaked side of his what remained of his robes. Watched him withdraw his hand, the nauseating tang of _iron and scorched flesh_ thick in the air. Coming from everywhere around them; from broken and disfigured corpses. Vader’s fingertips were stained dark fluid when they withdrew; and he seemed to regard them under contemplation.

“It appears you shall be sleeping in your _own_ bunk tonight, Captain.”

It was then that Vader _finally_ turned his head to face Teel head on. And the stormtrooper had to fight back a flinch of shock. Had to swallow the gasp that wanted to slip from his lips. 

The entire left side of Vader’s face plate was mangled and cracked. Exposing what _lay beneath_. The same pale, twisted and scarred flesh his torso had hinted at. Blurry features of a grim, hard set face. They were little more than shadows in the nightfall; but the fires all around cast _just enough_ light to reveal the eye. 

One single, deep set _ember eye_. 

Bloodshot, hollowed, sunken in. Reflecting the light like a predator stalking its unwitting prey in the dark. Almost as if it was _glowing_ all on its own.

“Yes, milord,” Teel finally managed to get out, giving a curt nod of acknowledgement.

The single burning amber eye held his gaze, even through the lenses of his helmet Teel felt it bore into his psyche. He _couldn’t_ look away, willing his hands not to tremble. He was suddenly freezing, despite the heat of the furnace the battle field had turned into. Felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end; fingertips numb. How many had seen Vader _unmasked_ and lived to tell the tale? For a brief moment, Teel feared he may have brought ruin onto himself

Then, the glowing eye broke the icy stare. It flickered off to the side, to cast one _final_ glance behind them.

“How many survivors have you accounted for?”

“Twelve, milord,” Teel responded, mostly on autopilot.

“ _Very well_. Round them up and bring them back to the hangar, Captain.”

“Yes, Lord Vader.”

For a final tense moment; their gazes locked and the piercing golden eye made Teel’s stomach sink with dread. Made him _damn near shudder_ , feeling an ice cold chill pass through his very bones. 

Then, Vader simply turned on his heel and began to make his way back towards the landing site. Perhaps, there was a tiny _wobble_ to his steps? Teel squinted but couldn’t say for sure. But he decided to stay a couple of feet behind Vader as he followed.

_Just in case._

Then again, Teel thought as he felt the oppressive atmosphere still bearing down on him; _that one eye_. That overwhelming stare. The sense of dread. That was not human.

Vader may bleed, but he had the _eyes_ of a predator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal favourite chapter (or one of them at least) I've written for this fic, so far. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	5. A Fleeting Resemblance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We meet again, _Princess_."

_Again._

It was just her luck, wasn't it. Leia didn't have to look behind her to _know_ she wasn't alone anymore. That mechanical breathing gave her companion away long before he was even close enough for her to see him. Still, she kept her back to him. She tucked a few lose strands of dark hair behind her ears, took a deep breath and braced herself. It was just as _cold_ as last time. Her skin prickling, the hairs at the back of her nape standing on end. 

Why was _he_ here? She didn't even know that he had access to the legislature training halls, couldn't understand what he might gain from coming there. Still, she felt his icy stare fixed on her form, even as she attempted to stay calm and collected. The setting sun spilling in through the full length windows; passing through half parted golden silk curtains. The warm glow of the Summer evening sky doing little to assuage the chill he brought with him. 

"We meet again, _Princess_."

His deep voice cut like a knife through the stillness of the scenery. Finally, Leia felt she was composed _enough_ to turn and face him. The same unseeing, red tented lenses meeting her stare. The same harsh black mask; the same long, swirling cape trailing behind his form. The tall, dark shadow spilling over the intricate copper and brown floor ornaments looked out of place. As if his very presence was devouring all light, and _all life_.

"Darth Vader. How _charming_. What brings you here?" said Leia in a cool tone, revealing her discontent.

Vader simply loomed in place, immobile. The beeping lights of his chest monitor and belt flashing periodically. His deep breaths echoing through the empty room, bouncing off of the stone walls. The orange glow of sundown reflecting in the polished surface of his helmet. Arms slack at his sides, feet planted firmly. Shoulders square, torso puffed out. Once again, there was that shudder of _dread_ travelling down Leia's spine but she bit her lip and forced herself not to visibly flinch.

"I was informed that you would be here. I suspect you are already familiar with the terrorist attack on the senate."

"That still doesn't explain why you were looking for _me_ ," Leia quickly spat back; turning her nose up in defiance despite her better judgment.

"Indeed. Prickly, aren't we."

The girl turned her gaze to the side; clenching her jaw. She knew what her father, _Bail Organa_ , was up to. Now that he had let her in on the full story, about how involved he truly was in the Rebellion. She was too, at this point. A nagging wear at the out of her stomach whispered about the fact that Vader might have found out. Not only about Papa, _but her as well_. Rolling down her sleeves to look more presentable, she cocked her head to the side and gave Vader an incredulous look.

"You're interfering with my exercise. And you have no business here, my lord. I believe a lady has the _right_ to be prickly, under certain circumstances."

" _I see no lady_."

Vader sounded almost amused, folding his arms over his broad chest. His guttural tone seemed to convey how much he _enjoyed_ insulting her; even the ventilator of his face plate appeared to be gloating. Still, Leia simply mirrored the man's stance; arms crossed and head held high. It was all she could do to bite back the urge to fire a tirade of offenses _right back at him_.

"Why are you here?" she finally managed to hiss out through a poorly feigned smile, dismissing his jab.

"As you should be wise enough to figure out, I am here on behalf of aforementioned terrorist attack. Last time I made your acquaintance, I believe you were stubbornly defending your father's innocence. Is that not so?"

Leia swallowed hard with an audible gulp, but she refused to move. Any flinch or uncontrolled expression might give her away. She knew all about Vader's perception. Still, she let her dark eyes follow his every move as he put his large hands at the sides of his belt. As he began to slowly stride towards her; making a small half circle around her until he stopped at an arm's length, like a predator stalking its prey.

The cold was harsher now, more _palpable_. As if it had a tangible form; Leia's cheeks already rosy from the biting chill. 

"Yes. I know my father."

" _Do you_ , now?"

Vader seemed to tilt his helmeted head to the side, as if he was mocking her earlier display. His breathing still just as steady, just as periodic. Making Leia's eardrums vibrate from the close proximity. She could feel the icy sensation of his aura much better now; like a _thousand sharpened needles_ stabbing at her knuckles; at her exposed face. She exhaled, and watched as her breath turned into a puffy cloud of condensation.

"I'd believe you would have learned not to hide your fear by now. I can _sense_ it."

Leia remained silent; tipping her head backwards and forcing herself to stare straight into the rust tinted, hollow lenses. She could feel him meet her stare; could feel the blood damn near turn to _ice_ in her veins as her heart rate picked up its pace. She dug her nails into the fabric of her sleeves; curled her toes in an attempt to stay put and not tremble. It was _freezing_ ; it felt like her insides were crystallizing.

"I have come upon evidence _confirming_ that Bail Organa is a traitor, and at the very least a rebel spy. Perhaps, even a rebel leader. It is only a matter of _time_. Indeed, the Emperor is most impatient to see him executed for his disloyalty," said Vader, lacking any other emotion than spite; and perhaps he was _sneering_ beneath that mask.

"There is no such evidence," Leia couldn't help but hiss in retort; her balled fists coming up in front of her face as an automatic defense.

"Do you believe you stand a chance against me, child? Do you not presume there just may be additional substance enough to convict _you_ , as well?"

This time, Vader came off as genuinely surprised by her attempt at a threatening stance; her holding her ground. He seemed to contemplate as he regarded her in silence. Then, his large gloved hand came up to grab a forceful hold of Leia's jaw. Holding her frail face hard enough to leave bruises; he kept her locked between his thumb and index finger. And Leia instinctively reared back.

Only, _nothing happened_. Instead, she stood as still as if she were rooted to the floor. Unable to budge an inch; her eyes going wide with thinly veiled panic as they raked over Vader's mask. What was he planning? He wouldn't... _would_ he? _Would he_? Was this all his doing? Was it his invincible powers paralyzing her? _How_ was that even possible?

Vader simply remained silent, as he shifted the girl's tiny head slightly towards the left; angling her chin upwards. Then, he repeated the same motion to the right. Held her in place; Leia feeling the beginnings of _pure terror_ making her stomach churn. Making her eyes begin to sting and water, the bridge of her nose burning painfully. A thick lump forming in her throat.

"Such _insolence_. You are in luck, child, that you remind me of..."

Vader trailed off into silence, before nearly snatching his hand away in an uncharacteristically jerky fashion - as if he'd been burnt. And as soon as he let go of her, Leia was free. All sensation, all sense of coordination seeping back into her body. Into her unsteady limbs. And her knees buckled under her weight, her tiny frame suddenly too heavy and too frail to remain upright. She glared at the towering figure; no longer afraid, but _enraged_ ; a wildfire burning inside. Despite the tears of powerlessness and _frustration_ leaking from her eyes, and she swiped angrily at them. She was positively livid.

"You're a _monster_ ," she wheezed under her ragged breath; sucking in air to steady herself.

Hair falling into her eyes, vision blurring.

"Don't believe I won't return for you, _Organa_ ," Vader simply warned in an imposing tone; as if he had been torn right out of whatever strange fit had come over him.

He pointed his finger at her face; and Leia shrunk back in spite of herself. She hated herself for it, and she _despised him even more_ for spurring the embarrassing reaction. Then, with a fell swoop of his cape; he was already striding out of the hall. Taking the cold, dark void with him. 

Leia swiped at her eyes; but she couldn't stop the sobs now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five, yet again poor Leia runs into everyone's favourite Sith Lord. She's a bit more rattled coming away from this encounter, than she was after the first one. Enjoy!


	6. The Potential of the Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocking one wrinkled brow, the Emperor attempted to pinpoint where it was rooted. He had for intention of prying Vader's mind right open; going through the darkest nooks and crannies reading him like an open book. He knew _better_ than to trust his apprentice, knew the ways of the Sith - the mantra he himself had drilled into the younger man's psyche. But he'd never been afraid of Vader; never feared for his life. Vader could not match the might of his powers, and Palpatine would _make sure_ he never did.

Palpatine let his cruel gaze linger in Vader's direction from beneath his hood; he stood out as a stark contrast to the Imperial red guards, poised between a pair of them. 

There was something _different_ about the apprentice's Force signature. Instead of merely the expected anger, and the overwhelming waves of turbulent suffering - which Palpatine would never admit had taken him _years_ to manage to fully block out, a frustrating inconvenience - there was a sense of pride. Even _confidence_. 

Cocking one wrinkled brow, the Emperor attempted to pinpoint where it was rooted. He had for intention of prying Vader's mind right open; going through the darkest nooks and crannies reading him like an open book. He knew _better_ than to trust his apprentice, knew the ways of the Sith - the mantra he himself had drilled into the younger man's psyche. But he'd never been afraid of Vader; never feared for his life. Vader could not match the might of his powers, and Palpatine would _make sure_ he never did.

Still, Vader stood immobile with his thumbs hooked into his belt, hands resting casually over his hips. Chest puffed out, helmeted head held high. Palpatine may not have intended to see Vader's full potential lost and scattering in the ashes, and he had been severely _disappointed_ with what had become of his apprentice after his unforeseen loss on Mustafar. The way he'd lost not only the battle; but half of his body, all of his soul to the flames. At the beginning, his unprecedented Force powers were pathetically watered down, his bleak future a cheap mockery of what _could_ have been. Of squandered expectations. 

But now, Vader had regained most of what he lost. Instead of irresponsible and reckless, relying solely on his inherent abilities; he'd become cunning, calculating. He knew to plan ahead, knew to reign in on his own impulses. And he was _indeed_ a frightening visage, not to be underestimated. Even with his body burnt to a crisp, scarred and unable to sustain himself outside of the life support system - Palpatine sometimes wondered just how close Vader had come to unlocking the powers they had both believed forever out of reach.

"You are brooding, my apprentice," said the Emperor eventually, his voice gravelly and gruff as ever.

Vader barely shifted, simply nodding slowly in acknowledgement. There was no point in denying it, Palpatine could _sense_ it. But he found he couldn't extract the thoughts with the same ease he was used to, unable to simply push past the blockage. Something that had gradually begun to bother him; the way in which Vader was gaining back more and more of his own integrity. The first few years, it had been so easy to manipulate him and keep him on the leash. Vader had been one mighty fine attack dog, never questioning orders or breaking rules. Barely ever crossing boundaries. In the past years however, Vader had become _much less subservient_.

"Yes, my Master."

The sound of Vader's steady breathing mechanism, his respirator a constant reminder of the fact that Vader was more machine than man these days. _An abomination_ , as Vader himself so eloquently had put it. Still, it pleased Palpatine to know that that was exactly why the farthest corners of the Empire aware of Vader's existence feared him. Even with a connection to the Force, you'd get little more than the sense of impending doom and the icy chill of the Dark Side out of him. It was a _delightful_ way to go, Palpatine thought. Struck down by an entity as formidable as Vader. And he thoroughly basked in the idea of sending his apprentice out on further assassination missions.

"What is on your mind?"

Vader's domed head turned slightly towards Palpatine, the unseeing dead lenses of his face plate meeting the Emperor's golden Sith stare. Palpatine smiled, a sickening, twisted toothy grin. Vader must be the only person in the Galaxy not rearing back in horror when presented with it. That, _too_ , was an issue. A more recent development; the unwavering indifference. As if Vader couldn't care less for who stood before him; for the fact that he was _required_ to heed his master. Still, Palpatine cackled grimly; motioning with one claw-like hand towards his apprentice.

"Now now, Lord Vader. _Do_ share you troubles," he inquired, tone mocking as he beckoned Vader towards him with his bony index finger.

Vader immediately obeyed, striding up to the Emperor's side where he sat poised on his makeshift throne. The Emperor's public appearances were few and far between, after his disfigurement, but this Imperial progress meeting was a necessary evil. A yearly audience with the senators, to let them cling to the dream and _believe_ they still had some futile scrap of power was almost entertaining. The hope flickering in their determined eyes, one Palpatine would be sure to snuff out.

"I am not troubled, my Master. I am merely contemplating," Vader responded, head bowed down low in submission as he sank down on one knee.

The gesture was nothing but customs and courtesy, these days. Palpatine knew Vader did not respect him, not anymore. The loyalty was frayed with distrust. Vader was beginning to see right through him, another uncomfortable truth. And much as he enjoyed letting his apprentice know his place; threatening him with Force lightning and torment - he _knew_ the illusion was fading fast.

"Rise, Lord Vader."

"Yes, my Master," Vader noted, and swiftly rose back into a standing position; arms now at his sides as he padded over to loom by his master’s side.

Vader was towering; his tall, broad shouldered frame a menace. All black, like his soul. Tainted with the blood of the innocent; blood Palpatine himself had demanded be spilled. For a brief moment, The Emperor grimaced as he was once again met with a fortified mental wall when attempting to reach his tendrils into Vader's mind to pry it open. Since _when_ could Vader resist him with such fervor?

"Your power is growing, Lord Vader," Palpatine simply stated, bringing one hand up to stroke at his pale chin.

Vader said nothing, simply remained in place. Still and steadfast, his breaths echoing. _Anakin Skywalker_ would have been much more defensive at the insinuation; Palpatine remembered how insecure the boy who would become Darth Vader used to be. The joys of taking sadistic advantage of him; making him believe he had a desperately needed fatherly figure in the then Chancellor. How far he’d fallen from grace. But the confidence Vader now possessed had never been present in Skywalker; something only the wisdom of maturity could bring.

Palpatine knew Vader _abhorred_ him. He could taste the hatred - _the loathing_ \- at all times. 

It was like an electrical current through the Force between them; constantly sparkling and buzzing with concealed dark intentions. A sharpened thrown in his side. Humming with a promise of _revenge_. Once, Palpatine had laughed at the notion that Vader would ever be able to threaten or overthrow his authority, but now - now, Vader was _changed_. He had grown into his own, had found his place. Had honed his skills, to the point where he could grasp at the edges of Skywalker's promised potential. Not that the Emperor would ever let _his apprentice_ know that; he would see to it that Vader continued to believe he stood no chance; had no way of taking his master on.

Tapping his clawed fingers against the armrests, Palpatine took notice of some upgrades done to Vader's shoulder armour; to the chest plate. Of course he knew Vader was making subtle changes to his suit, was making it easier to live with. He had no doubt that it was nowhere near the pain to carry around that it had been when it first became Vader's prison. Vader was a talented mechanic, after all. One of the few hobbies he could be found tinkering with in his spare time. Still, Palpatine didn't mention it aloud; in favour of simply regarding the new, thicker durasteel. Wondered whether the additions had anything to do with protecting himself, should he be struck by Force lightning.

Vader was plotting _something_ , that much was obvious. 

Palpatine once again poked at Vader's defenses, still met with the same unyielding guard. Protecting information, shutting him out. He grit his teeth, knew he couldn't ask Vader to lay it down and allow him access. Knew Vader could sense the assault; knew that he could not reveal the fact that he was _unable_ to subdue the resistance. If Vader knew his master was unwise to his devices; Palpatine would need to sleep with more than one eye open.

"You are growing displeased," Palpatine spoke, as he retracted; accepting defeat for now.

"I am simply impatient with the senators. They are a mass of insignificant fools."

"Yes, and I dare propose the brunt of them support the Rebel Alliance."

Vader once again turned his head towards his master, this time tilting it to the side as if surprised. _Or contemplative_. Palpatine sent a wicked, unholy sneer right back. He enjoyed knowing he could still make his apprentice question him, make him unsure of what was going on inside his head. Palpatine was going to make sure it _stayed that way_.

"All I lack is the evidence, but I am confident you will see to that, my apprentice."

"As you wish, my Master," stated Vader dully in his trademark deep voice, turning back towards the gates; they weren't going to have to wait long for company.

Palpatine narrowed his eyes at that. There was some sort of almost snarky tinge to the words; like a silent _warning_ brewing just beneath the surface. A reminder not to be trifled with, a daring bait to spur the Emperor's suspicion; and his rage.

"Are you questioning my authority, Lord Vader?"

"Never, my Master," said Vader; but it was forced, an utterance spoken so many times it had lost any meaning.

" _Good_."

The walls were still up; the blockade impenetrable as Palpatine made one final attempt to sink his clutches into Vader's thoughts. All he felt was the familiar hostile tendrils of the Dark Side. Something he was mostly immune to, something he'd normally never notice. Palpatine was the master of the two, he was the one with the deepest connection to the Dark. Still, the simmering void of emptiness radiating off of Vader was _remarkably_ strong as of late. Even the Emperor could not deny that.

Vader was nearing his breaking point; the Emperor realized. There was little left until his apprentice reached - _and_ seized - his full potential with the Force, and he was thankful his intimidation tactics still mostly kept Vader in line. Because, even Palpatine felt the distant, creeping emptiness. One he'd been introduced to by his own master, many decades ago. One that had initially decided his path. One he hadn't experienced as an outsider since the night he struck Darth Plagueis down in his sleep; and fulfilled his own destiny.

But there it was. 

Flickering, frail and faraway. Unrealized - but distinctive nonetheless. Bleeding off of Vader, his true intentions laid bare. And even Palpatine felt the _numbing_ prickle at his fingertips.

He would have to monitor his apprentice _very closely_ , henceforth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this installment we see Palpatine musing over Vader's sudden, resurfaced confidence in his own abilities. And he does not like it. Enjoy!


	7. Reckoning Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still, the mysterious master of the Inquisitors had remained elusive. Had stayed prowling about in the shadows, just out of reach. _Until now_.

It was about time. 

Ever since the first rumours of a Jedi slaughtering enforcer backed by the Empire had begun making the rounds, Master Luu T'oo had been _prepared_. He'd lost contact with several allies, unable to reach them through the Force; unable to tell whether they were dead or alive. Few were the remaining Force wielders who had once dared call themselves _Jedi_. Padawans, Knights, Masters; all but vaporized. 

The Force seemed eerily quiet since the fall of Republic, not so much as a whisper of light or recognition. Life had been empty, the Force calling out in loneliness for _years_. Ever since his former padawan, Beeda Waang, had disappeared. While he still held out hope, he knew deep down that she was gone.

The fact that the Empire was using Dark Side wielders to do their bidding was common knowledge between any remaining Jedi in hiding at this point. T'oo himself had taken down three Inquisitors in the past couple of years. It had been _eight years_ since the attack on the Jedi Temple; eight years spent underground. His hair since had gone grey, his body frail as he approached his late sixties. He knew he was getting slower, had found it much more difficult to escape the clutches of the Seventh Sister. Narrowly, he'd survived; but so had _she_.

Still, the mysterious master of the Inquisitors had remained elusive. Had stayed prowling about in the shadows, just out of reach. _Until now_. 

T'oo figured he'd become too great a threat, had found a way out _one time too many_. Had forgot to cover his own tracks. Now, he simply kept his eyes shut. Remained in his meditative pose; legs crossed, aged hands resting on his kneecaps with their palms facing skywards. He could sense the presence; how it was drawing ever closer like a predator stalking its prey.

It had been long since T'oo had been greeted by any Force user of this caliber. Of course, the Inquisitors were all cunning and skilled in their own right. But this was _different_. The aura rolled off of the menacing figure in waves; thick, suffocating, icy cold. T'oo's hands were freezing, a biting numbness seeping into his fingers. His skin pimpled; the hairs at the back of his neck rising. Despite the warmth of the setting sun over the jungle landscape, despite the previously warm welcoming breeze. There were no traces of the musty, condensed rain-forest air.

_The Dark Side._

The Inquisitors would carry with them the same, uncomfortable chill. But never this powerful; never this _overwhelming_. In all his years as a fully fledged Jedi, T'oo had never experienced hatred, fear; _anger_ this deeply rooted. It was agony, weighing down on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. The weight of the entire universe. And he heard the steady breathing. 

Inhale, exhale. Rhythmic, nearing. Accompanied by heavy, booted steps. A quick stride; confident and calm. To his surprise; T'oo felt some flutter of recognition, as if he had been in close proximity to this particular Force wielder before. It was a familiar signature, tickling at the back of his senses. Partially cloaked by the chill of the Dark Side.

Slowly, T'oo opened his weary grey eyes. 

Before him was a towering visage of unadulterated dread. Clad in black from head to toe, regal dark cape trailing behind him. Broad shouldered; impossibly tall as he stood out like a shadow against the orange painted sunset and the green vegetation overhead. Face completely covered by an emotionless mask, crudely reminiscent of a _human skull_. Its gaping eye holes tinted by reddish lenses. In one of his large, glowed hands rested the hilt of a lightsaber. He stood with his feet spread wide apart, back straight; the domed helmet atop his head held high. A current of malicious, dark delight rearing its head from behind the freezing darkness. His guard up.

"At last I have tracked you down, Master T'oo," the enforcer spoke in a booming; deep voice.

"Should I feel honoured?" 

T'oo grimaced, wanting to remain defiant until the very end, and he noticed the man's fist tighten around the saberhilt.

_A Sith Lord._

That's what he was. There was no other way to explain the rage; the pure _contempt_ of hatred spilling into the Force surrounding them. Tainting it with its void, its cruel intents. _Desecrating it._

Pursing his lips, T'oo rose calmly to his feet; watching the Sith's every move - still he shuddered when the dark figure took a step towards him. It felt almost as if somebody had dunked his head in a vat icy water, the aura of the Dark Side hitting him like a slap in the face. It almost made him want to rear back and cower.

"Save your breath, _Jedi_. You and your kind have presented a thorn in my side long enough. You have cost the Empire time and money, as well as several sufficiently competent Inquisitors."

"If they were indeed so competent, how come _none of them_ would best me?"

T'oo couldn't suppress taunting tone to his voice; even as he could sense the Sith's wrath stirring. Another step towards him, but he stood his ground.

"Perhaps. Still, you are but an old fool. Their powers were insignificant compared to _mine_. As are yours. You may think you stand a chance, but as you will see, you are no match for me."

There it was again, that sense of uncanny familiarity. Something about the Sith's stance; something about the way in which he spoke, the way he dictated and the way he carried himself. Dramatically, as if he was _expecting_ some sort of respect or reverence he hadn't made himself deserving of. T'oo let his hands hang slack at his sides, his twin sabers still clipped to his belt. He stared right back at the tar black pits signifying where the Sith's eyes would be; daring him to attack. Still, the Sith simply continued to stalk him; as if amused by the situation.

"Does that imply you think you may defeat me?"

"I do not make implications. I am here to succeed where the _vermin_ have not."

"You're only one of them, the same vermin obeying the Emperor without a thought. Like a _slave_ to an invisible whip.”

Now, _that_ spurred an immediate reaction. 

Using the Force to pull his sabers free; T'oo barely had them in hand before the Sith was on him. With only one arm; the tall figure trapped the crossed green blades of the Jedi's weapons with his own red one. Held them firmly locked in place by applying his own full weight as leverage. T'oo felt the muscles of his shoulders and torso protesting against the strain. Was he _that_ old? Or was the Sith simply that _strong_?

"I shall take great pleasure in dispatching you," said the Sith's insidious voice; his mechanic breathing ringing in T'oo's ears, the thinly veiled disdain palpable.

But T'oo was still convinced, however impossible it may be, that he _knew_ the man. Gritting his teeth; he reached out with the Force as he struggled to stay upright. He had aged horribly, hadn't had anybody to spar with since the loss of his apprentice; and no Inquisitor had matched the Sith's _raw prowess_ in the Dark Side. They’d been the equivalent of starry eyed Jedi younglings, compared to this man. Compared to the black hole of pure malice emitted; swallowing any light whole. And a beneath that lay a flimsy, distant _arrogance_. Subtle, but present.

T’oo gaped as he looked up in horror at his enemy. He _knew_ that mindset; knew that Force signature, the desperation and vulnerability.

The blood running cold in his veins, T’oo faltered only momentarily as his eyes widened in shock; but it was enough to bring him to his aching knees. He’d let down his guard. Kneecaps scraping against the dirty, soggy ground beneath them; he kept his arms raised high above his head as he firmly maintained the stalemate. He knew he was losing. 

_It couldn't be_. He searched the mask fervently for answers, gaze darting over every sharp angle; every horrifying durasteel detail. Still, he felt it in his _gut_. Felt it race through his nerve-system like a wildfire; felt his stomach sink. The Force signature was there; it couldn’t lie. It was _incapable_ of it.

The aura was distant, disguised and drowned out by the Dark Side's heady high. Buried well underground, like a half decomposed corpse. Like a dirty little secret.

T'oo's hands were trembling now; wrists protesting with sharp bolts of pain as the Sith leaned further into him. He imagined the monster must be _smirking_ behind the mask; a cocky smile T'oo could recall before his inner vision. Lips twisted in a crude, mocking sneer. One he'd witnessed many before; in battle during the last days of the Clone Wars.

"I would have imagined you would die fearless, old man," the Sith mocked; almost chuckling through his vocoder - or the closest thing to which the modulator could translate a chuckling sound. “ _Pitiful_.”

Feeling weak, and hopeless with abandon; T'oo realized only then that he was going to _die_ like this. He hadn't even managed to put up a fight, had posed no challenge at all. No threat. Hadn't even managed to make a stand, to defend his own honour. Had _failed_. He felt the Sith Lord’s grim ember eyes on him; couldn't see them, but their intensity was a _vicious burning_. Their hatred was razor sharp; and cut through him like a knife.

"It can’t be. You _can’t_ be," T’oo managed to choke out, face suddenly deathly pale and his quivering arms threatening to give out at any moment; ready to meet his maker and be one with the Force. “ Who _are_ you?”

" _Death_ ," said the Sith; in an all too convincing tone.

For that final instant; T'oo could believe it. And in the blink of an eye, as both sabers were swiftly twirled out of his grasp; he saw the memory that had been lingering just out of reach flash before his inner vision. Of a proud young man; golden curls blowing in the wind. Blue eyes narrowed dangerously; face covered in ashes and dirt. Blue saber in hand. The man faded like a mist; disappearing into the abyss of the _evil_ before him. 

Shaking his head in utter disbelief; T'oo uttered one final horrified word before his head was severed from his neck with one clean cut.

" _Skywalker_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to write the showdown with Vader from the perspective of a surviving Jedi Master in hiding. One who would have known Vader _before_ he became what he is. And this is the outcome.


	8. He Who Wields the Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Watch it_ , Lord Vader. You are well aware of how the Emperor feels about you taking yourself liberties,” the governor brushed a dismissive hand at his chest; ignoring the soreness.
> 
> “I am _not your pet_ , Governor.”

“How dare you?”

“How dare _I_?”

Vader’s tone was loud, raised to a nearly painfully static half shout through the vocoder. He whirled around, cape swirling behind him as he stalked up to Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin; bypassing the courtesy of merely pointing his index finger threateningly in favour of _jabbing_ it into the Moff’s scrawny chest. Tarkin took a staggering step backwards from the force of the motion; doing his best to maintain his outside calm. 

But even he had never seen Vader this furious; the atmosphere so cold and crisp it the room felt like a freezing night on Hoth. Still, he held his ground; refusing to back down. _Vader was out of line._

“ _Watch it_ , Lord Vader. You are well aware of how the Emperor feels about you taking yourself liberties,” the governor brushed a dismissive hand at his chest; ignoring the soreness.

“I am _not your pet_ , Governor.”

The offense was clear in Vader’s voice; as was the thinly veiled hatred seeping through his face grill. He was looming over the lean, almost skinny Moff; a tall, towering powerhouse of rage. Tarkin watched silently as Vader folded his arms across his chest; chest puffed out. All to appear imposing; intimidating. Tarkin simply _scoffed_ at the notion.

“ _The Emperor_ would like to believe otherwise,” he said, with a shrug and an almost mocking sneer etched into his grim face.

“The Emperor is _not here_ to watch your precious back,” was Vader’s response, and Tarkin eyed him out of his peripheral vision as he turned away.

The icy prickles, the mysterious aura Vader always brought with him. It _stung_ like a million syringes, biting into the backs of Tarkin’s exposed hands; his cheeks. Refusing to budge, he shook his head. He had already noted the wide eyed, fretful stares of the two Admirals accompanying them. 

Jokk had pursed his lips into such a thin line; they might as well have been sucked into his face and disappeared. At'qu stood with her hands tightly folded in front of her hips; nails dug deep into her knuckles as she peered from beneath her cap. Their shoulders were tense, and their faces reddened by the _unforgiving_ chill.

“Perhaps not, but there are witnesses. He would _know_ if you were responsible.”

Tarkin gestured towards the two Admirals, as a reminder. Vader’s masked gaze seemed to follow the motion; regarding the two young additions before waving a dismissive gloved hand in their direction.

“There are _no_ witnesses, if I wish it to be so.”

For a brief moment, the Governor’s grey eyes darted between Vader’s empty red tinted lenses; and the pale faced visages of the Admirals. He hoped the flicker of _unease_ that was twisting at the pit of his belly wasn’t visible in his expression to either of them. Straightening up; he kept his head held high.

“You do _not_ have the last word here, Vader. _I_ do. It is my Star Destroyer, and while you reside aboard, _you_ are my guest. Or my burden, be it whichever you prefer. _I_ am law and order here.”

“I cannot stand idly by while you allow such _insolence_ towards the Empire among your crew members, Governor. Your clientele is running amok." 

Vader would probably have hissed if his vocoder had allowed it; instead, it offered a bellowed snarl as the man’s hand cut through the air.

"It is _my_ duty to reprehend any misgivings aboard my vessel, as it is yours aboard the Executor.”

“I am in charge wherever I wish to be, Governor.”

“ in the eyes of the Emperor. You know as much,” Tarkin had raised his voice too; his light eyes blazing as he scowled right back at Vader’s visage. “I still outrank you and your command. Or do you wish for me to report your misconduct to the Emperor himself? He would not be pleased.”

“The Emperor would see that my decision was justified. _He_ is not as blind as _you_.” A pause. “Perhaps you are getting slack, old man.”

Now, Vader’s tone was _threatening_. The tendrils of freezing cold were almost palpable, the burning sensation they brought forward something almost akin to frostbite. Rapid puffs of condensation through their noses matched the Admirals’ quickened breaths. Tarkin noted that they were trembling; although barely visibly. From fear or merely the cold, he couldn’t say. Still, he could feel his own fingers going numb all the way up to the third knuckle.

“ _Enough of this_. I need an explanation for your disrespectful disregard of orders.”

“You misjudge the situation greatly,” said Vader; now hooking his thumbs into his belt, striding swiftly up to the two horrified Admirals. “You need be more _cautious_ in choosing your staff.”

“How so.”

It wasn’t even a question; Tarkin regrettably confused and truthfully frustrated by the way in which Vader seemed to be _deriding_ his intelligence. Normally, the man would know his place. Would obey his commands, would retreat when addressed for stepping over boundaries. 

Still, this _was_ interesting; and the Governor ignored the fresh prickle of uncomfortable uncertainty as Vader’s hollow mask eyed first Jokk, then At'qu wordlessly.

“Well?” he urged, pitch imploring Vader to speak up as he raised one inquiring eyebrow.

“Vice Admiral Percy Younun was a pitiful fool, as well as a traitor.”

Now, that was unexpected. 

Scowling, Tarkin reached up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. It may be a ploy, but at the same time, Vader had little reason to lie to him. Nodding, he mulled over the possibility.

“Go on.”

“It had come to my knowledge that several manufactured weapons malfunctions could be traced back to his command. While there was no imminent evidence presented before today; I am _convinced_ I had enough substance to act upon my suspicions. These suspicions were confirmed during your _salacious ‘Imperial dinner party’_ , as you’d like to phrase it.”

Glancing towards the Admirals; Tarkin noted their perked ears; the fear in their eyes now mingling with a poorly concealed curiosity. His own expression stoic and set in stone, he still found he shared their inclination.

“Very well. Explain.”

Vader didn’t speak immediately, instead he simply peered back at their company; watched the pair shrink back into their boots as their gazes dropped to the floor in a subservient manner. Vader’s shoulders heaved, perhaps in frustration, perhaps just in irritation. He crossed the floor, opting to stare out through the offered viewport. Perhaps, he was regarding the vast expanses Lothal’s fruitful soils. Perhaps the millions of stars that lay beyond.

“It would reveal itself to me that your reception was intended to serve as the ideal event at which to attempt an _assassination_.”

“On _whom_?”

“ _Your_ self, Governor.”

Tarkin’s eyes widened, as he searched Vader’s face plate for answers that would never come. He almost gaped in mild shock, before regaining his composure. This time, he had to recognize the sinking feeling at the pit of his belly as tendrils of fear. He knew he had enemies, but he hadn’t expected there to be corruption _so far_ up the ladder. Narrowing his eyes, he did his best to call the possible bluff.

“ _Preposterous_. I would have known if there were assassination plans in order regarding my person.”

“And yet, you did _not_. As I said, Governor, I do not act without reason. Would you rather I had let you fall to the wayside? I think not.”

Shaking his head, the Governor balled his hands into tight fists. There was a tinge of _amusement_ to Vader’s delivery. He was clearly taking great pleasure in this moment, relishing in the fact that he literally had had the Moff’s life in the palm of his hand. Tarkin could almost envision the satisfied _smirk_ of one fallen Jedi Knight that just may be hiding behind the emotionless mask.

“Why then would you choose to intervene? If, as you have so clearly indicated, you’d wish to see me eliminated.”

Vader raised his helmeted head then; his piercing stare set on Tarkin’s eyes. One he could not see, but _feel_. Like a stream of molten lava; painful while compared to the still icy cold atmosphere of the quarters. Holding it, despite the brunt of it bearing down on his shoulders like a sodden weight; the Governor _would not_ flinch as he was approached.

“I intervened because I _could_ , Governor. You may be in charge, but you forget who possesses the _true power_ ,” growled Vader, voice low and menacing.

There was a moment of stalemate; a moment of painfully charged, tense silence. Both men daring the other to speak first; daring the other to turn away and be the first to budge. Strangely enough, it proved to be Vader; who swiftly turned on his heel and marched towards the hydraulic doors to dismiss himself and exit. Tarkin didn’t stop him; throwing a nasty glare at Jokk and At'qu, _ensuring_ their silence upon the matter as well.

Vader never ceased to surprise. 

And as the freezing aura left with Vader; the room suddenly stale and stuffy - Tarkin loosened his tight fists. Just for a second, he had almost expected Vader to break protocol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one was fun to write! Vader and Tarkin have such an interesting dynamic, and while Tarkin here knows he’s basically untouchable; he too has to doubt Vader wouldn’t disregard even the Emperor’s orders when riled up. 
> 
> Also, Vader giving Tarkin the last laugh (and unsettling him) is what I live for.
> 
> Enjoy!


	9. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For _six months_ , even during the initial examination of the ship when he was supposed to approve its construction; he had never set foot in the cantina and its adjoining hall. Had never taken notice of the rows of meticulously spaced tables, the polished white floors. Everything crisp, and cold, and angular. Just like the rest of the deck. 
> 
> _Except for the mirror._

_No mirrors._

That had been his only request. It didn’t bother him whether the officers, the cadets, the admirals - _anyone_ \- kept them in their private quarters; for personal use. It didn’t bother him if there were mirrors in the bathroom area, or the stormtroopers’ lockers. If there so were mirrors in the insides of the Imperials damn cap brims, he wouldn’t even bat an eye. But he’d asked for none on board where _he_ may cross its path. Where he may fall victim to being exposed to his own reflection.

Yet, in the dining hall of his very own vessel; there it loomed. 

Vader had spent so little to no time there, being unable to consume solid foods or even remove his helmet and face plate to drink. He’d owned The Executor, his private Star Destroyer, for six months. 

For _six months_ , even during the initial examination of the ship when he was supposed to approve its construction; he had never set foot in the cantina and its adjoining hall. Had never taken notice of the rows of meticulously spaced tables, the polished white floors. Everything crisp, and cold, and angular. Just like the rest of the deck. 

_Except for the mirror._

The offending object took up the entire twelve through twenty feet of the farthest short side wall. Big, clunky, _oppressive_. Reflecting his every gesture back at him. 

Vader growled at the visage; clenching his gloved hands into tight fists. He pursed what was left of his lips behind his mask; ember eyes dangerously narrowed.

It had been the cleaning droids’ duty to keep the space tidy and neatly arranged. It had been officers Oli'ij and Walker’s duty to see that the tasks were accurately performed. For six months, Vader had relied solely on them and it had clearly paid off. Except for the fact that he hadn’t thought to expect the entrails himself; not until today. Not until yesterday’s altercation between two newly examined cadets had ended in bloodshed; forcing him to inspect the area. Just out of necessity.

“Who was in charge of the interior layout for this hall?”

Officer Eedy Walker winced at the sharp tone; the poorly concealed anger cutting like a knife. She looked surprised; her blonde fringe falling into her eyes as she glanced up at Vader. She had no doubt expected him to bring up yesterday’s miniature brawl. Expected to be scolded for letting it happen on her watch.

“I… vice Admiral Actu and his unit were supervising the construction team, I believe. Grand Moff Tarkin was in charge of their operation, as well, if I my memory serves me right,” she quickly replied, recomposing herself in the span of a second.

“I see. And I suppose Tarkin had orders from _the Emperor_ …” Vader said mostly to himself, voice dismissive as he kept his eyes fixed to the reflective surface.

Vader _loathed_ seeing his own visage, and his sadistic master would know as much. Would know - _and take advantage of_ \- how he despised the emotionless mask; frozen in a constant state of intimidating indifference. Despised the blinking lights of his chest plate, of his belt - all reminders of his life support system constantly keeping him alive. All black, even through the red tinted lenses of the face plate’s eye holes. 

Tall, imposing, broad shouldered. Taller than before Mustafar. Stronger than before Mustafar.

_But only in body, not with the Force._

Vader’s eyes darted away for a quick moment; watching Officer Walker’s stoic expression as she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. She was a clever one; more so than her partner Oli'ij had been. She knew to obey orders, knew to make herself useful. Knew not to fail him continuously. 

Yesterday’s slight was hardly her fault, and Vader recognized as much. She would be safe, _if she only watched her tongue._

“You may leave. I shall call for you when you are needed,” he said.

Walker craned her neck to look up at him; her tiny stature making her tip her head almost all the way backwards. She seemed to search his mask for answers, but didn’t question him. Instead she simply nodded in acknowledgement and gave him a courteous bow.

“Yes, milord,” she replied, before turning on her heel and leaving him to himself.

Vader’s attention wandered back towards the mirror. 

A cyborg, some would call him. Others would say he was a droid. It was hardly surprising, seeing as there was no way to suspect there was once a _man behind the mask_. Now, only bits and pieces of humanity remained. No limbs intact; all replaced with cybernetics and mechanics. Unable to breathe, or feed, or _live_ by his own sustenance. 

But despite the constant gnawing pain in his joints, and the burn in his internal organs - Vader would at times forget about his own appearance. In his thoughts, he wasn’t the black, towering enforcer of the Empire. During meditation, or when he dreamed - the few times he ever managed to stay asleep for longer than an hour or two - he wasn’t the deformed half man, half machine pictured before him now.

Before his own mind’s eye; he still sported shaggy, sandy blonde locks. His arms and legs were still his flesh and bone; his breathing was still his own. He was free to bend the Force to his every whim, free to move in tune with it; to raise his saber above his head and strike. To release the full potential he carried within, instead of watching it fizzle out and wither away. 

It served to intensify his anger. Those boyish features had belonged to a dead man; _a buried past_.

Unable to turn his gaze away; Vader stared his own twin down as he approached. In just a few long strides, he came face to face with the abomination everyone around him saw when they looked upon him. 

Not even his eyes were discernible beneath the lenses; not even a hint of their humanity. Perhaps that was for the better; the fear kept him respected and highly regarded. Kept his enemies in line, as well as his allies.

Hesitant, he let his hand come up to press its large palm to the reflective surface. He wondered if it were as cold as ever; if he would ever be suited with cybernetic limbs that could process sensations in detail. If he would ever experience the warmth of the saber hilt when activated; the chill of gunmetal under his fingers again.

_This_ was what he had become. This was him; _Darth Vader_. 

Infamous, intimidating, cruel. Unfeeling, with little to no pity or mercy in his heart. The towering monster people looked upon in terror; the face plate - reminiscent of a human skull - the image etched into so many victims’ minds in their dying moment. The mechanical breathing, the booming tone of the vocoder amplifying his damaged vocal chords. The inhuman strength, the inability to escape his clutches. 

_He might as well never have been human at all._

Still, Vader loathed the mirror. Loathed all mirrors, more than he loathed his own twisted form. Never would a mirror manage to convey his anger, his pain; his suffering. _His rage_. All they would show him was an image of pity; of horror and dread. 

Vader curled the hand pressed up against the surface back into a fist; honing in on the Force and projecting it outward. He felt the glass humming; vibrating with intensifying ripples beneath his touch. Focused until its polished surface was visibly trembling; the reflection of himself a blur of blacks and grays through red lenses.

_Crash._

It shattered all at once; the sound shrill and cutting as the mirror exploded into a thousand pieces. They fell down in one fell swoop of a cascade around Vader; cracking further as they collided with the floor. The silence afterwards was deafening; the amplified hearing of Vader’s helmet making his ears ring briefly. Before it faded, and the only sound left was his own mechanical breaths. An empty, vast expanse of white durasteel all that remained in front of him. 

Letting both hands drop to his sides, shoulders slack; Vader took a step back. The shards crunching beneath his boots; beneath his weight. Sweeping his cape aside with one arm; he watched in near fascination as the sparkling shards reflected the bright lights overhead while they fell like a cloud of dust from the cloth. 

But rather than one image displaying the mask of death he wore; he found he was surrounded by millions of cloned images. Their hollow, empty eye sockets staring back at him.

“Lord Vader!”

Officer Walker suddenly came bursting through the hydraulic doors; stopping dead in her tracks to take in the sight. Her blue eyes suddenly wide, her face paler than usual. She gaped, and for the first time, she appeared hesitant regarding how to address the situation. Vader simply stood rooted on spot, remained silent while he remained transfixed by the reflections surrounding him.

“I… what _happened_?” Walker finally breathed; her gaze now darting all over the pieces of broken mirror littering the dining space floors.

“It appears the mirror was not adequately secured.”

Vader’s tone was dismissive and as blatant a lie as the man could ever tell. He simply headed over to greet the woman; cape brushing over mirror shards, the rustling noise following him as they were turned about.

“I shall immediately have it replaced, Lord Vader.”

“That would not be necessary. I do not hold mirrors in high regard. I would prefer it, if you were to _leave the space empty_ , Officer.”

The last word was more of a threat, a deep and guttural menacing punctuation. Officer Walker opened her mouth as if to speak, taking one final peer at the devastation before her before shutting it again and nodding silently. 

A smart choice.

“As you wish, milord. I shall see to that this unfortunate event gets taken care of.”

“I _expect_ you to,” said Vader, nodding as he made his exit; simply mentioning the initial matter in passing. “And _do not forget_ yesterday’s unfortunate dispute. I take it for granted that there will be no repeats.”

“Certainly not, Lord Vader,” Walker simply assured; tone high pitched and rushed - fearful.

“Indeed. I shall hold you accountable, if what you implore proves to be false.”

“Yes, milord,” was the only reply, before the automatic doors shut unceremoniously behind Vader with a loud hiss of mechanics.

There were to be no replacements for the mirror. This was who he was now, and he wanted nothing to do with the visual reminder of all he had lost. 

_Anakin Skywalker was no more._

A naive, foolish little brat who had been torn apart and left in the dust. Who had destroyed everything he held dear, who had murdered or betrayed everyone he loved. Who refused to dwell upon the imprisonment and punishment he had brought upon _himself_. Who refused to admit his own failure.

But as he retreated to his own chambers; his mind conjured the image of himself before his inner vision. One the mirrors never could reciprocate. 

And in that realm of broken memories; _Vader still looked like Anakin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first installment from Vader’s POV. He is definitely not the biggest fan of himself, or of his current state. 
> 
> And the fact that he still sees himself as Anakin before his mind’s eye is an interesting concept, at least to me. Because it reveals how he still associates with Anakin, because that’s who he _is_ ; despite all he wishes to believe.
> 
> So, Vader is in a sense dreading himself and all he is - as well as acknowledging all he used to be.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	10. The Revelation of a Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke felt as if the air had been sucked right out of his lungs. 
> 
> Still, _reality_ remained.

Luke felt as if the air had been sucked right out of his lungs. 

Every inch of him sore, and aching. Bruised, battered, _pulsating_ with pain. His head throbbing, the simmering sensation of nausea rising at the pit of his belly. All he could do was shut his eyes, and attempt to take slow; deep breaths. The way Aunt Beru had taught him to, back when he was an eight year old boy who’d just been attacked and chased by a snarling pack of Womprats. When he’d been on the verge of a panic attack, thinking he was going to choke on his own breath.

Still, _reality_ remained. 

The stump of his wrist that had once been attached to his right hand numbed by the cauterizing swing of Vader’s crimson saber. His own precious weapon lost along with his hand, somewhere in the endless fathoms below the cloud city of Bespin. Then again, _what did it matter_? The saber had belonged to his father, to _Anakin Skywalker_. Anakin, who was supposed to have died. Whom Ben had told him was killed by Vader.

Luke didn’t _want_ to believe the words Vader had uttered; squeezed his eyes tight as he tried to block the horrifying truth out. Anakin was supposed to be a noble hero, a Jedi Knight who fought in the Clone Wars. A keeper of peace. Brave, just, pure at heart. Everything Luke was striving to be, if so only reaching half the potential his father once had. Now, a dark shadow loomed over the image he’d conjured up of the man who’d sired him.

It was on the Millennium Falcon, before they boarded the Death Star, that Luke had dared ask Ben about his father again. He’d wanted to know what he looked like, wanted to be able to put a face to the name. _Shaggy sandy blonde hair, blue eyes. Dimpled chin_ ; Ben had said. _With a visible scar just by his right eye_. The image Luke had ended up with looked like an older version of himself; although he knew Anakin must have died young. A man with tousled golden hair, and a piercing blue gaze. A man who stood straight, with his head held high.

Now, as he attempted to conjure up that initial, fabricated image of Anakin; all Luke could see was Vader. Darkness, the icy sensation of the tendrils of the Dark Side prickling at the back of his mind. Like tiny, freezing daggers. Violating his senses. 

Instead of bright blue eyes; he could only visualize Vader’s emotionless face plate. The hollow, red tinted lenses of his mask. The mechanical, tidal breathing of his respirator. Tall, imposing, _frightening_. In the moment that searing, burning hot pain had severed Luke’s hand from his body; he’d been _afraid_. Terrified; the air around him vibrating and charged with his own fear. He’d been sure Vader was going to kill him, he’d been convinced he had failed.

Now, he wondered if the fate he’d been granted hadn’t been worse than death itself. 

He opened his eyes; vision blurring and head spinning. Leia had left him to rest, while they fled to comfort after the escape. They were en-route to the closest Rebel Base. She’d told Luke they would fix this; that his hand could be replaced. But how could any part of the human body ever be perfectly replicated? And how could anyone heal the wound Vader’s revelation had torn? How it had scarred him?

Luke glanced at the gentle cloth drenched in medicational Bacta lubricant, wrapped around the end of his forearm. A lump of white _nothingness_. Not even a speck of blood. As if there had never even been a hand at all. He shook his head; sucked in another deep breath. He counted to ten as he held it, before releasing it slowly. Steadily. 

It helped; despite the dim lights of the Falcon’s interior intensifying his headache. Vader’s words were spinning on repeat in his head. Like an echo, refusing to dissipate while it bounced around inside his skull.

“ _I_ am your father,” Vader had said.

_“I am your father.”_

He couldn’t be. 

Vader had _murdered_ Anakin Skywalker. That’s what Ben had said. Why would Ben lie to him? _Because the truth would have been too painful to bear,_ Luke’s mind provided as an immediate reply. _Because he wanted you to idolize your father, rather than fearing the path he chose. Fearing your own bloodline._ Luke absentmindedly rested his left palm against his forearm; rubbing in slow motions to soothe himself. To still the tingles that were running up his ruptured nerve endings. To still the sharp, itching sensations shooting up the length of his arm every so often. Reflexes sent from fingers that no longer existed.

_“Luke.”_

Luke startled, his head abruptly turning to the side only to be met by an empty room. 

Still, he’d heard the voice speak to him clear as day. Vader’s dark, deep rumble. Eyes wide, darting around frantically, he couldn’t settle down. Was he losing his mind? Had Vader somehow boarded the Falcon without him noticing? He had been out cold after Leia left, had something happened while he slept?

“Luke, my son,” Vader spoke; and the _almost gentle tone_ used made Luke queasy.

The voice was inside of his head, Luke realized then. Like a thought, but at the same time as loud as if Vader were standing right next to him. He tipped his head back against the bunk; sinking into the soft pillow awaiting him. He stared up at the ceiling, without _really seeing_ anything. Instead, he focused on a faint unfamiliar probing at the back of his mind. Calmed his racing heart enough to internally graze it; welcome it. Then, the hazy memory of a prior conversation like this one came flooding back to him. Before they managed to escape the Executor; escape Vader’s clutches. He realized he knew what was coming.

“Father.”

The word slipped out of his mouth before he could think enough to process what it meant. He realized he’d said it before, and that Vader would have heard it then as well. Realized there was no use in fighting it back. Realized it neither harmed not healed.

Blinking, Luke pinched his lips tightly together. That one word acknowledged their relation; made it real. Their kinship. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. _What does this make me? If my father is indeed Darth Vader; enforcer of the Empire - murderer of uncountable innocents?_ Luke felt as if the blood of Vader’s enemies was now on his hands. Could he, too, commit the same atrocities if necessary? He had already taken lives for the Rebellion and their cause. Did that make him as cruel as Vader?

“Son, come with me. I sense your turmoil. I _will_ find you.”

A brief pause, but somehow Luke knew the connection was still intact. He could feel the buzz; the throb in his aching temples.

“We need not be adversaries. It is as I have foreseen it. Join me.”

It almost came off as a forlorn _plea_ , almost.

And for a the split of a second; Luke felt a tremendous sense of loneliness wash over him. Along with it followed a deep seated sorrow; a bitterness. A tangible remorse, one that made Luke’s gut wrench and his heart sink like a rock into his stomach. It wasn’t his own desolate agony, not his own desperation. Luke felt as if he was standing on the outside, looking in. The distressed emotions channeled from elsewhere; from _Vader_. 

A pang of guilt stabbed at Luke’s chest; his unsteady left hand coming up to clutch at the spot right above his heart - the overwhelming despair ripping it to shreds.

_Is this Vader’s suffering?_

Luke cursed his own compassion; his own will to see the humanity in everyone around him. He didn’t want to, but somewhere far away he felt genuine empathy. He _pitied_ Vader, who must be carrying all this darkness within. Pitied anyone who would live with this constant anguish inside. Like a gaping, empty void. The doing of the Dark Side.

“I’ll never join you. I’m _nothing_ like you,” Luke whispered into thin air, voice trembling as he shut his eyes again.

He felt the tears beginning to well up in his eyes; felt the bridge of his nose burning as a telltale sign. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, but knew it would be to no avail. He knew he was going to _cry_. Sniffling, he bit his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. Turned his face from the doorway and towards the inner wall, hiding from view. In case Leia would return soon; he sensed her presence lingering nearby. Familiar and warm, a stark contrast ton the icy flickers of Vader’s looming aura.

“You are _my son_.”

Luke shook his head, as if it would change anything. As if denial would make things right; would turn this nightmare back into that hopeful, childish fantasy of Jedi hero Anakin Skywalker. _I’ve been so naive._ A lone tear broke free from the corner of his eye; it felt burning hot against his cold; battered cheek. Another followed suit. And the dam was broken.

“You lie,” Luke hissed through clenched teeth; grasping tighter at the fabric of his own overalls.

“ _Obi Wan_ has lied to you. _I_ speak the truth, and you know it. Search your feelings. You cannot deny what they tell you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Now, _you_ are the liar.”

“ _Leave me alone!_ ” Luke shouted; swiping furiously at his eyes with his intact forearm.

The invading tendrils of another consciousness inside of his head seemed to hesitate. As if they wanted to continue their assault, but something was restraining them. Something was making them waver and stall. 

Then, they vanished. As if they had never even been there, as if they had been a figment of imagination. As if Luke’s mind had always been only his own. The feeling of emptiness, of solitude and regret would not budge, however.

“Luke! Are you alright?” came Leia’s soft, concerned voice as she appeared in the entry way.

Luke only nodded as a silent lie, unable to speak even when he briefly met her doe eyed stare. 

If he pitied _Vader_ , what did that make _him_? 

The question filled him with dread; even as Leia approached to crouch down beside the bunk. Luke wished she _hadn’t_ , wished she wouldn’t see him cry. But it was too late now; as her tiny hand came up to rest on top of his. Squeezing it, reassuring him. Stroking the back sweetly with her thumb. She too had lost something irreplaceable today. Still, here she was comforting him.

“It’s alright,” she repeated, almost cooing as her free hand came up to stroke Luke’s matted blonde hair.

Luke simply took her hand in his, holding onto it tight as Leia leaned down to rest her cheek against his chest. He peered down at the top of her head through teary eyes, a weak sob wracking his body. Vader had been right. He _was_ the liar. He knew what the connection they had through the Force was telling him. He knew that it too was confirming Vader’s admission.

And it _terrified_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we just jumped a little farther into the future with this installment. I just really wanted to get this concept out there, and I hope I did Luke justice - this was actually the first time I ever wrote his POV. Poor boy, terrified and torn up.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	11. Twilight of the Apprentice, Dawn of the Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Ahsoka…_ ”
> 
> Ahsoka’s eyes snapped open. 
> 
> She didn’t _want_ to look; didn’t want to see the towering monster before her. The man who had slain thousands upon thousands of innocent people. Who had conquered planets, had murdered friends and allies of hers. Still, before she could stop herself from responding to the reflex; she spun around.

The Force signature was _so familiar_ ; crying out to Ahsoka in anguish. She shut her eyes to block it out; hearing the labored sounds of the respirator. She had struck Vader; she had aimed and he’d barely been able to duck a killing blow. Perhaps she’d missed on purpose?

Still, the darkness he was radiating gave her chills; made her very heart freeze over. And she knew the aura. She’d felt it before; though then, it had been warm and gentle. It had been inviting, had been swelling with pride. The only time she’d experienced anything similar to this from that very signature, was when she left the Jedi Order.

“ _Ahsoka…_ ”

Ahsoka’s eyes snapped open. 

She didn’t _want_ to look; didn’t want to see the towering monster before her. The man who had slain thousands upon thousands of innocent people. Who had conquered planets, had murdered friends and allies of hers. Still, before she could stop herself from responding to the reflex; she spun around. Eyes wide; heart pounding in her chest. She clutched hard at the saber hilts in her hands; gaze frantically searching Vader’s mask before locating it in the blur of lightning and darkness surrounding them.

“Ahsoka.”

Again. 

This time, there was that voice. She knew it. She’d heard it say her name uncountable times in the past. It belonged to her Master. To her brother. _To Anakin Skywalker._

And then, Vader looked up at her. The right side of his terrifying face plate split open; still sparking as smoke trailed into the cold air from the sliced black durasteel. It revealed a face; pale, worn, scarred beyond comprehension. But the eye. Despite its sickly, yellowish glow as it peered from a sunken cavity. Ahsoka recognized it; could never mistake it.

“ _Anakin._ ”

This wasn’t real. 

Vader had lied. He’d said he destroyed Anakin; but there he was. The Anakin she’d once known, face shrouded in shadows. Blood on his hands. Murder in his heart. 

She took a deep breath; the exhale burning her lungs. Her gaze unable to leave that one, piercing ember eye. It held such hatred; it made her skin crawl. And such unbearable pain; bearing down on her shoulders until it threatened to crush her beneath its weight. 

He’d asked her to join him; asked her to join the Dark Side. His side; once again.

_She couldn’t._

“Anakin,” she mouthed silently to herself.

The name tasted bitter on her tongue; but he flinched either way. As if he’d been stabbed; as if the very insinuation stung him. 

Ahsoka watched as he rose to his feet. The tall, towering black clad figure. The mask of death, the shadow of doom. She shook her head weakly; disbelief screaming at her to deny what her heart already knew. Deny that _this was_ Anakin. That Anakin had not only lived, but become this machine - this puppet of the Empire. 

Still, as he eyed her; his expression seemed to soften. The gleam of disdain in his eyes faded away; the intensity of its glow lighter and less overpowering. She felt it dart all over her face; noted how for a brief moment; Vader - _no, Anakin_ \- was faltering.

“I won’t leave you,” she blurted out, the hand of guilt squeezing her heart tight before putting on a more determined approach. “Not this time.”

He blamed _her_. 

And she blamed herself. It was her cross to bear; what Anakin had become. If only she could have seen; if only she had stayed by his side when he was falling apart. 

She watched as Anakin’s exposed eye widened; in shock, surprise, astonishment. He said nothing; a solemn aura pouring off of him. It was there again, along with the tendrils of the dark side - the agony. She had been so close to Anakin, once. She knew this was his emotions; seeping through their once firmly established Force connection. Sharp, like shards of broken glass. Cutting through her tender flesh. Was this the agony Anakin lived with daily? 

_Why had he done this to himself?_

The only sound was the swirling wind; Anakin’s tar black cape dancing to its whims. The shriek of his damaged mechanical respiratory system uncomfortable and loud; echoing. Ahsoka had to make this right. Last time, she had abandoned him. She had never asked enough for his forgiveness; despite their reunion. Now, it was time to stand by her own promise.

_‘Why did you leave? Do you_ know _what I have become?’_

Anakin’s words echoed through her mind. Now, _she knew._

She’d thought it impossible, thought it insane. Thought it a trickery; a cruel lie dropped in her ear like a deadly poison by the sinister allure of the Dark Side. 

‘I’m sorry’, was all she could think. She let it wash over her; through her. Channeling it towards Anakin; allowing him to feel her grief. Her grief for him, who he was now; who he _had once been_. 

_‘I’m sorry,_ Anakin. _Forgive me. I’m going to make this right. I’m here with you, now.’_

He looked down; as if contemplating the words. Was he hesitating? As if he may accept the apology; as if he may stand down. 

There was a palpable sorrow in that one golden eye. So deeply seated, that its presence stabbed like daggers. Anakin was formidable once; loving and emotional. An admirable man. Now, he was horrifying. A menace; a terror. Bringer of death. Even to himself; it appeared.

In the split of a second - as if he’d read her mind - his expression hardened. What little of his face was discernible suddenly harsh; cold and unfeeling. Like a marble statue; like a demon. 

Except for the eye blazing with rage and hatred. It rolled off of him, washing like waves of an ocean stream through the Force - over Ahsoka until she felt small and pitiful and _fragile_. Threatening to sweep the world away. She watched the eye narrow into a slit; watched the already sickening yellow shade deepen as it glowed like a predator’s reflective orbs in the dark of night.

When Anakin spoke; the vocoder was mostly broken. The booming tone of Vader had faded to a mechanic rasp; exposing the tone of the man Ahsoka had once called her older brother. The contempt in his voice as he spat his reply out searing like flames licking and eating her alive; like a hiss of a viper.

“Then you _will die_.”

And Ahsoka believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d been wanting to write something from Ahsoka’s POV; and once I’d finished this small piece I realized it fit perfectly into the Mask of Death narrative. Hence, it became an actual installment to the serial.
> 
> I hope it’s enjoyable, first time and only time I've written Ahsoka - and first time I directly base an installment on something established in canon, not counting previous chapter!


	12. Don't Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Jedi he knew was either dead, or lost. Missing without a trace. In hiding, some said. Perished, others whispered. At the hand of Vader, was the common consensus among the underground sources. He had tried his best to hide, to keep out of sight, to cover up his tracks. For three years, he had been successful. For three years, he had managed to avoid the Jedi killer, and the relentlessness with which the Empire seemed to hunt down and destroy Force users. 
> 
> He was running out of time.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan whispered quietly; eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out the world.

The only sound was that of his own hammering heartbeats, hands clasped in a desperate prayer as he kept his head low; curled up in a tight ball with his legs to his chest in the cramped stowaway space behind the ventilator of his beat up space vessel. When he had docked on Illuna, he had expected the possible company of fellow runaway Jedi apprentices. Instead, he found the embrace of the Dark Side.

The presence that had greeted him so graciously was still palpable, still drawing ever nearer. The dark it brought with it like a sickness, like a plague shutting out any connections to the untainted living Force. The light flickering before the tendrils of darkness snuffed it out; successfully smothering it. Swallowing hard; a faint noise penetrated through the steady pulse ringing in his ears. 

Artificial, mechanical. Periodic breathing. _In and out._

He felt like a caged animal; trapped as bait, as prey for the predator approaching. He had been fooled, and now he was paying with his life. He crept further back against the durasteel confines, side pressed to the outer wall. As far from the small door to the hidden crawlspace as possible, making himself impossibly small. 

Once again, he hoped to reach out with his mind, for help or guidance he wouldn’t know. Yet, the only thing he could sense as a response was the thrumming of that inescapable darkness; an empty void of agony, threatening to grab hold of him and drag him asunder if he didn’t keep his distance. He toed the line, standing just at the threshold.

The padawan had been under the care of the Jedi Order on Coruscant for as long as he could remember, had been a promising padawan as his master had proudly proclaimed many times. It seemed like a lifetime ago. As if the happy days were but the fading remnants of a fever dream, as if the Empire and its rule was all there had ever been. The Empire, and Vader. 

Every Jedi he knew was either dead, or lost. Missing without a trace. In hiding, some said. Perished, others whispered. At the hand of Vader, was the common consensus among the underground sources. He had tried his best to hide, to keep out of sight, to cover up his tracks. For three years, he had been successful. For three years, he had managed to avoid the Jedi killer, and the relentlessness with which the Empire seemed to hunt down and destroy Force users. 

He was running out of time.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” he mouthed wordlessly, desperate to mask his hitching breaths.

It was _freezing_. 

He remembered the ice cold desert nights, accompanying his master on a week long endeavour hunting for a ancient Jedi artifact. Where had it taken them? Tattooine? Jakku? He couldn’t remember, every desert planet looked the same. 

Still, he’d never forgotten the numbness of his fingers, his breath coming in heated puffs of condensation. He’d never forgotten the prickle of his skin, the chill of his weary bones. How it seeped so deep into his core, that not even the scalding heat of first sunlight promising fire and brimstone could dissolve it.

The breathing. 

_Steady_. 

The predator toying with its prey, enjoying the chase and dragging it out before pouncing and going in for the kill. Vader must know where he was hidden, must be able to sense his tangible Force signature. 

The paralyzing feeling of torment Vader’s aura radiated rolled off of him in thick waves; like the tide coming in, like the eye of the storm. Without mercy, without pardon. Hands trembling, the padawan pressed them to his lips as he continued to mouth the same payer like mantra. 

It would be in vain, yet it was the only link that remained to his master. The woman who had been gunned down in cold blood by her own troops, sending him off in a solitary escape pod towards fates unknown before sacrificing herself. She’d taught him the prayer, something to cling to in times of need. In times of fear, of _hopelessness_. 

Footsteps. 

Heavy, booted footfalls against the durasteel floor. The temperature seemed to drop for each one, as death traveled on swift wings ever faster. 

The padawan could feel the stinging heat of salty tears behind his eyes, could feel them welling up at the corners of his eyes. Shame accompanied the terror. His master’s act of self sacrifice had landed him stranded on a scrap station, only vaguely directed towards the outer rim where more Jedi may be in hiding by a good natured sympathizer. He had found none, no one to help him. No one to guide him, no one to come to his aid now. He was alone, and he would die _alone_.

 _Only then did it truly sink in that he wasn’t going to leave the ship alive_.

“I can sense you, child.”

A deep, booming voice. 

Filtered through a vocabulator. Devoid of any scrap of human emotion, monotone and matter of fact. Loud, direct, and frank. How many others like him had met such a fate, the padawan wondered. How many others had perished at the hand of Vader? How many more would there be? Were there even any Force wielders left in the Galaxy for Vader to sniff out and execute?

“I can sense your fear,” the voice added after a moment's pause; and despite the same unfeeling diction, there seemed to be something spiteful to the words.

He had never known evil. 

The padawan and his master had taken down wild beasts, droid armies; they had even faced off against a stray misled Dark Side user. The droids had been man made machines, little more than gun fodder. The animals had followed only their hunger and ravenous nature, desperate to eat or be eaten. The Dark Side user had been conflicted, _led astray by corrupt practices_ , as his master had put it.

 _This_ was different.

Vader appeared to be pleased, in a sense. No, perhaps not pleased as there seemed to be little joy or excitement to find in his Force signature. It was empty, like a nothingness. Like a hole in the fabric of the Force, like someone had cut a piece out of a tapestry where only cold, and suffering could exist. 

Suffering; so unadulterated that it made the padawan’s body ache with its torment. Vader was like a phantom, like a dead man walking. His aura revealed that he had nothing to lose, nothing to gain. No compassion, no forgiveness. No use in pleading.

A tear escaped the corner of the padawan’s eyes, rolling red hot down his stricken face. The suffocating feeling of Vader’s presence sucking the air out of his lungs, making him feel lightheaded with terror. The steps slow, calculated until they came to a sudden halt mere inches away. The protesting creaking of durasteel, of metal giving way to an unseen, powerful hand. The first beams of bright, fluorescent lights spilling through the cracks torn open before the trapdoor was ripped off its hinges and flung across the cramped space of the vessel’s interior. 

The padawan daredn’t open his eyes - the mechanic breathing was no longer muffled, the thick waves of the Dark Side crashing over him like ocean waves. Drowning him, as they left him surrounded by numbness. 

It ached to breathe; it ached to think, his stomach churning and his throat constricting. His lips moved on autopilot, still wording that same pathetic prayer. There was no one to save him. No one to take his hand. 

The tendrils of a twisted, subjugated shadow of the Force he knew torturous as they pierced his skin, invisible but unyielding. Like a million icy daggers, like sharp needles or broken glass. Another warm tear fell from his eyes, this time leaving a searing trail in its wake against his frost bitten cheek.

“You cannot hide from me. There is no escape,” said the voice, so void of sympathy and remorse that it seemed inconceivable.

Were it not for the Dark Side, and the tainted, perverted use of the Force Vader was guilty of; the padawan would have thought him to be inhuman. Rumours said Vader was once a man, beneath a tar black suit or armour. Said Vader may once have been a Jedi; a Jedi who’d fallen to the Dark Side in pursuit of power. But how could a figure whose very existence seemed to serve as a harbinger of death ever have been live? How could a presence such as Vader’s ever have belonged to anything but a malicious, desensitized monster?

The padawan’s master had called many animals monsters. Some would deem Vader a savage beast, desperate for blood to quench his own thirst while they cowered in fear at the very whisper of his name. As if acknowledging his existence might conjure him. Yet, an animal would follow its own basal needs and instincts; like the krait dragons, or the lilacs, or the rancors. They were not monsters, they were simply part of the natural order. Equaling them to Vader was no fair comparison. Vader was sentient, aware of his actions, and committing heinous acts nonetheless. Purposefully, knowingly. 

_Vader_ was a monster.

His eyes were still stubbornly squeezed shut, perhaps seized up with terror as the frightened padawan cowered. 

Still, they began to twitch little by little, opening as if that unseen hand guided by the Force was prying them open bit by bit. He desperately attempted to keep them shut, to fight back. It was futile, as his watery eyes were uncovered against his will. Unable to blink, unable to stay blissfully unaware of the exterior that accompanied the foreboding phantom. Then, the boy’s head was turned by the same invisible pull. The hold on his body so strong, it tossed him like a rag-doll as he was yanked out of the tiny crawlspace. He cried out when his knee was torn open, by the jutting edges of one of the ventilator system’s metallic fans.

Tumbling haphazardly over the floor, the padawan trembled with sobs and fright. A nightmare come to life, he wrapped his weak arms around himself to shield himself from the bitter cold. It did him no good, the icy stingers of those Dark Side tendrils burrowing into his chest like the fangs of a loth-wolf. Despite the struggle, the padawan found himself crawling to his knees, as if compelled to do so by some sort of beckon, taunting and mesmerizing in its lethal promise. 

The abyss lay before him, he knew.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with _me_ ,” he croaked, in a broken, small voice.

“Your prayers are of no use.”

Then, his eyes were set upon Vader. Frozen in place, as if fixed by eyes concealed behind the lenses of a black mask. Death in the flesh, unkind. Unjust. Cruel. Vader’s pain everlasting, overpowering. 

Overwhelming, unbearable.

_Inevitable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Another part! Number 13, to be exact. I decided to go back to the roots of the series for this installment; making Vader frightening and terrifying. I figured it was a good place to start to get the creativity and the writing process going again. 
> 
> I kept the padawan unnamed for this one, as I wanted to focus on the looming approach of Vader again - similar to how the first chapter was structured way back.
> 
> Anyhow, sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy!


	13. Opposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It appears our paths are once again aligning, _Lord Vader_.”
> 
> Grand Admiral Thrawn casually brushed at the white suit jacket sleeves of his navy uniform as if dusting himself off; initially paying little heed to the man who had just entered through the hydraulic doors. They slid swiftly shut behind the towering, familiar dark clad figure with a hiss of mechanics and air pressure. As they stilled, the atmosphere became more tense and pressing - a natural occurrence in the presence of Darth Vader. His mechanical breaths as steady as ever; in and out.

“Grand Admiral.”

The powerful voice seemed to bounce off the metallic walls as his companion revealed himself; the constant breathing of his respirator lending an eerie background noise to the otherwise mostly silent control room.

“It appears our paths are once again aligning, _Lord Vader_.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn casually brushed at the white suit jacket sleeves of his navy uniform as if dusting himself off; initially paying little heed to the man who had just entered through the hydraulic doors. They slid swiftly shut behind the towering, familiar dark clad figure with a hiss of mechanics and air pressure. As they stilled, the atmosphere became more tense and pressing - a natural occurrence in the presence of Darth Vader. His mechanical breaths as steady as ever; in and out. 

The man stood tall with his domed, helmeted head held high; his strong back straight, bulky arms at his sides but hands faintly balled. Thrawn knew why, and he was no less frustrated with the situation. Silently, he would admit to himself this was a tremendous failure on his part. But he’d never mention it out loud; his military strategy was supposed to be impeccable. Instead, it loomed like an unspoken truth, bearing down on them both.

“ _Indeed_. It is as the Emperor wishes,” acknowledged Vader in a monotone voice.

Thrawn paused; noting the tinge of _distaste_ in the other man’s deep rumble. 

Finally, he looked up and offered a cool but welcoming gesture towards Vader. A small, flat smile twisted the right corner of his narrow mouth upwards; the crisp white interior of his office room making Vader look like a harbinger of shadow, darkness and all that is not to be trifled with. Like Death itself. The admiral may not particularly condone Vader’s tactics, or his crude sense of leadership; but he did admire the man’s determination. 

Especially on the battlefield, he knew Vader was a menace to be reckoned with. There were certainly worse people within the Imperial ranks he could have been paired up with for this final siege. However, he made a mental note of not painting himself into a corner this way again - unexpected as it had been; it was an embarrassment to require any sort of assistance.

"I imagine you have already been informed of the situation at hand.”

“Yes. I have been settled to deal with the final stages of this siege and the eventual takeover of Ziqarr, as well as locating, tracking down and destroying the remains of the involved Rebels stationed on its fourth moon. As requested, I have arrived with adequate backup troops - including the 501st to further my eventual assault. They shall accompany me _personally_.”

“Very good.”

The 501st were as loyal to Vader, as Vader was to the Emperor and the Empire itself. Wherever he went to serve or wage war; they _followed_. Like a dog heeding its master. They had been his saving grace, ever since the days of the Republic. Ever since Vader went by another name, one the Galaxy remembered in a much fonder light. A name from before the fall of Democracy. _Before_ the days of the Empire. 

Allegiances die hard.

“Then I expect you are aware of the current situation on the battlefield. As you can tell, the fleet is doing its job superbly - keeping the ground forces trapped and unable to take off. As far as _I’m_ concerned, they appear to have run out of airborne shuttles. I did brief the Imperial surveillance through holo message, but there has been quite some progress made since my message went out.”

“ _Do_ enlighten me,” Vader said, appearing to be glancing out the one view port overlooking the beautiful half city, half jungle landscape of the planet lying at their fingertips - as well as the ever growing decimated planes of the battlefield. “It should be _most interesting_ to hear the rest.”

Thrawn nodded; watching the Sith stride over to his side by the monitor; already watching with perked ears as the chiss tapped out the coordinates of their location. With a swift touch, he continued to activate the armor tracking devices built into the neck collar of the soldiers’ gear - revealing each every stormtrooper’s precise whereabouts. A cluster of orange dots appeared; their blinking lights motion and heat sensory. Any dead trooper would be wiped out of the system; for convenience _of course_. The burning bright lights reflected off of Vader’s polished mask; making the already red tinted lenses stand out in the ember glow.

“Very well. So, as you can see the Fourth and Fifth battalion have entered the field. While we are making progress and drawing the enemy lines back as we claim territory, we are still losing more men than is justifiable.”

“And why is that? Indeed, your superior strategic skills are _certainly not_ to blame for the matter.”

Vader’s tone was dry with sarcasm - drawn out and hitting right where it hurt. Twisting the knife deeper; and for a short moment Thrawn collected the irritation bubbling underneath the surface. This was why working with Vader gave him such _headache_.

“That should have been the case, yes, had my most estimated men not been keeping the fleet’s assault consistent. The ground forces is made up primarily of governor Tarkin’s troops. However, as he is keeping his most experienced men occupied with their assault on Juebila; what he left _me_ with are whatever capable combatants he had left. Most of them freshly examined.”

Thrawn was convinced that if he could have seen Vader’s face behind that stoic black face plate; he would have caught a flash triumphant spite in his eyes.

“Mhm. And seeing as Tarkin is already off the market; this is why you wish to see _me_ in charge of ground level.”

“Yes. I need to ensure our victory through the eradication of every single rebel that is not worth scouring for information through investigation. I cannot expect anybody besides you to get out alive while putting themselves in the very front of the siege.”

“But is this not a rather small scale siege? It is indeed surprising to see you so involved, Admiral. Perhaps, it would be most adequate for _yourself_ to trudge the trenches alongside your battalion.”

Thrawn flinched inwardly, a twinge of annoyance at Vader’s arrogance and downright condescending tone making him narrow his crimson eyes. He didn’t need to be reminded that he had misstepped; although he had a feeling Vader would never let him forget it.

“It is, but we are both aware of whom is better adapted to intimidate and eliminate the remaining rebels, as well as their sympathizers. You have quite the reputation amongst their ranks.”

“As do _you_ , Admiral. Now, I shall not disobey the Emperor’s request, but I do believe you would be well advised to throttle the string of smaller scale sieges he is currently preparing to hand you full on. There would no doubt have been less beginners, and a vast majority of experience troopers for this battle; had _that_ one cruiser _not_ been blown to smithereens on _your_ expert watch…”

Vader’s voice was challenging, yet calm. 

Thrawn scowled; flexing his fingers a couple of times. He was not one to get easily upset or roused, but he despised the way Vader got under his skin like nobody else. And the fact that nothing went unobserved. Vader _knew_ what had happened; he knew the group of rebels that had targeted and regrettably annihilated that cruiser as well as its flanks escaped. This was payback from the Emperor himself - a warning and a semi official demotion - and Vader enjoyed every second of the admiral’s derision.

“It is my intention repair any damage that has been done, and that is _precisely_ your purpose here, Lord Vader,” Thrawn simply spat, breaking character briefly before forcing himself to reclaim his usual outward appearance of calm and sophistication.

Vader thoughtfully remained silent for a moment; and Thrawn knew the Sith Lord’s loyalty to the Empire would be enough to persuade the man if he had been at all doubtful. Folding his hands behind the small of his back, he strode over to the view port side; back turned towards the whirlpool of ties and stray freedom fighters still urgent to stay alive while swirling through space. A couple of explosions dotted his periphery; as he remained fixed on Vader who was still studying the overview charts. He watched knowingly as Vader hooked his thumbs into his belt; sensing what the other man may be thinking without even being able to discern his facial features or mood. He braced himself briefly before picking the conversation back up.

“I want a direct line of communication between us. I remain here on deck, to supervise the space fleet’s ongoing strategy–”

“And you expect that _I_ follow _your_ orders, Admiral?”

Vader interrupted coolly as a thinly veiled threat; and Thrawn grimaced inwardly. 

He knew Vader despised being ordered around; couldn’t be contained. He wished the Sith would understand that as a chiss warrior, he was better suited to the intricate planning and calculations of a war and its inner workings. And that Vader would realize that he was best used as an indestructible warhammer bludgering its way through the frontlines and giving the stumbling troops a fair chance. With Vader in the lead, there would be fewer casualties. There always were. The same had been true for the Clone Wars battles led under his command. Plus, putting Vader in charge meant he had more time spared to focus on the bigger picture.

“No,” he finally said with a faint shake of the head; determination colouring his tone. “I expect you to want to win.”

“ _That_ is irrefutable.”

“I would assume as much, seeing as this is a only a mere scuffle.”

“Do _you_ think of this as a mere scuffle?” said Vader, tone more hostile again as he gestured with one gloved hand towards the chaos unfolding just behind Thrawn’s back. “I would presume a mere scuffle to be well _beneath_ your rank, yet the Emperor does not see it the same way you do. He is most disappointed.”

“It _is_ a scuffle, when put into perspective. Both you and I have been through more tiresome, and tedious, battles. The Emperor knows nothing of the scheming required to win and carry out a battle.”

“You underestimate the Emperor’s intellect. Be cautious, and remember where your loyalties lie, Admiral.”

There was a long, pregnant silence to fall before Vader finally spoke again. A silence during which Thrawn felt the icy tendrils of Vader’s Force powers; but refused to be swayed. 

“Still, I fail to see how _I_ poise a necessary addition to your ground forces if you indeed believe this to be nothing but a scuffle. Certainly, you have all the requirements to successfully reach victory by your own doing, is that not so? _With or without_ experienced troops to lead the way.”

That same snark as ten years ago, the same way of talking down. The _patronizing_. 

Vader had always spoken that way. Ever since their first meeting, when the divide between them had initially become clear. When Thrawn had not yet known they would be destined to join forces, and to serve under the same master. That they would be of equal rank, and of equal necessity to the Galaxy’s order - at least in the eyes of the Emperor himself. Thrawn had never been intimidated by the tactics, but he was insulted. 

_He just knew not to let on._

“Perhaps, however, while I do believe that lives must be sacrificed for the greater good of the Empire, there are limits to just how many casualties one battle justifies. The enemy weapons may not be as civilized as ours, but they are proving to be… unexpectedly devastating.”

“Are you suggesting that you may have miscalculated their advances _again_ , Admiral? The Emperor would be most displeased to realize you are not the golden goose he would have hoped for.”

If Vader’s present day features were anything like the face Thrawn remembered, he was convinced the Sith was _smirking_ behind that mask. That same cocky; wry know it all smirk of the reckless young Jedi general. With the cold, cruel; upstaging gleam in his blue eyes. All at once daring, and demanding.

“We have never before run into similar weapons of mass destruction. We are slowly working out a way in which to disarm their blast sources, and pinpoint what exactly we are dealing with - but for that we need a maneuver that will get us behind the enemy front line and behind the dead zone. That is what I require your assistance for, _Lord Vader_.”

“You have indeed put a lot of effort into this assault, for somebody not invested in the ground forces.”

“Where I am expected to be of use, I _will_ come through.”

“Perhaps. Still, you would reach the very same results, if you send in the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth battalions for a simultaneous attack,” said Vader, as he pointed one gloved index finger at the bright blue sensory dot indicating the location of the mid blast device he was intended to take out.

“That would pose more casualties.”

“And you have _always_ been opposed to casualties in the past, have you not. Both regarding your own troops, as well as civilians,” Vader simply pointed out; tone rumbling and dripping with wry sarcasm as he added one final low blow. “Not excluding Imperial cruisers.”

Thrawn sucked in a silent, steady breath and made sure not to look directly at the Sith Lord’s hollowed eye sockets. He held his tongue, until he was sure that was he said wouldn’t come out the wrong way.

“I have orders from above to spare as many combatants and soldiers as is possible.”

“Yet, I am surprised the Emperor would be so attuned to the statistics of the Imperial casualty numbers. One may wonder what his reasoning for that is, indeed it must be _quite_ essential.”

“Indeed. This time, it appears he _is_ considering the losses however. Whatever his reasons may be, it is imperative that we keep this siege as clean as possible.”

Thrawn ignored the sly remarks, in favour of raising a black eyebrow; the gaze of Vader’s face plate turning back to the holo map in front of him. He shifted to fold his arms across his chest; and the chiss was certain that the man would have sighed if he’d been capable.

“Very well. If it is in the Emperor’s best interests, there is sufficient reason behind the directive. It may be of use towards the quest of tracing the widespread scope of the Rebellion. The fewer casualties, the more prisoners we can round up to interrogate. If there is indeed a Galaxy wide terrorist organization in the workings, it shall be revealed to us.”

“My thoughts precisely,” nodded Thrawn at last, once again offering that polite cold smile that wouldn’t quite reach his deep red eyes, as he walked over to join Vader’s looming stature.

“Very well. My forces are only awaiting the command, I shall lead them afoot as soon as we are fit to take off.”

“The Emperor shall be _pleased_ , I assure.”

Vader said nothing in response. Instead, he simply looked up at the Admiral for a moment; as if contemplating his actions one final time. 

Then, with a curt nod and the swirl of his long jet black cape, he dismissed himself and began to stride effortlessly towards the doorway. With another swoosh the hydraulics opened up as Vader no doubt took aim for his own personal escort. And to order his own troops to join the battle ahead. All was as the Emperor had instructed.

Thrawn turned to scrutinize the prize of the game through the view port as soon as the doors slid shut behind Vader’s visage. He couldn’t help but smile another grim, cruel smile. He knew the terror of seeing Vader in the front would be enough to strike terror into any Rebel foolish enough to join the planetary resistance. How he wished he could see their faces, in that final moment as the red saber cut them in half.

He may not approve of Vader’s _ruthless dog eat dog tactics_ ; but he could appreciate the intimidation tactics when they were properly deployed. This was one of those moments. If there had been any man in the Galaxy a man as intrepid as Thrawn might have feared - despite their mostly chivalrous rivalry - it would be a man like _Darth Vader_.

And with good reason. After all, _Anakin Skywalker_ had always had quite the reputation with his enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always wanted to write Vader bickering with Thrawn, and here I finally got to it. I figured that if Thrawn were to ever make a big mistake, he would never hear the end of it from Vader - and Vader would jump at the chance to never let him forget it. So, here is Thrawn dealing with the consequences of a failure, while Vader is being a smartass about it.
> 
> This was at the time writing this my first time ever writing Thrawn as well, so I hope he’s not too OOC. Enjoy some sassy Vader!


	14. For Her Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was uncomfortably _cold_. A frigid, dry, jagged sort of icy chill lingered in the tense air. Before the Imperial trio arrived, the company had been warm and friendly, though poignant with suspicion. Now, the space seemed cramped, constrictive and suffocating. As Bail tried to focus on the culprit of the eerie, uneasy sensation - he found its source without really trying. Stinging, piercing, sharp pin pricks emanated from Vader’s direction. As if his very aura, his Force signature as the Jedi called it, was oozing off him. As if the sensation of dread was part of his very core, as if it was emitted from him in a cloud of invisible, foggy haze. Its shadow fell upon the small group, trapping them in despair, contempt and an awkward stillness. Peforating every inch of their perimetry.
> 
> That was the moment little Leia chose to make a break for it.

Bail Organa had never been so terrified. He felt the layer of cold sweat damp and clammy against his forehead, his lips drawn into a strained grimace to prevent them from trembling. He had been through war zones, kidnappings, terrorist attacks and assassination attempts. He had aided Jedi fugitives Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi as they went into exile, right under the nose of the newly announced Emperor Palpatine. He had adopted the daughter of one of his best friends in the wake of her tragic passing, and was actively raising her as his own. He had seen the child’s father murder younglings, in the name of The Dark Side. What he _hadn’t_ counted on was for said adopted daughter to grow to resemble her father more and more with each passing day. She had her late mother’s political lenience, her debate skills, her keen intellect, her dark hair and brown eyes. But she had her biological father’s dry sarcasm, his stubbornness, his nose for trouble, his courage.

_Anakin Skywalker died on Mustafar _, Obi-Wan had said. At the very least, he had been left for dead, consumed by flames. Perhaps, Obi-Wan had known that was a lie. Perhaps, he had known his former apprentice lived albeit a changed man.__

____

Bail had never been as closely linked to Anakin, he’d been Padmé’s close friend and although Anakin had always been polite and easy to make conversation with, there’d always been a barrier he couldn’t penetrate. Sometimes, he’d wondered whether Anakin was jealous of his friendship with his secret wife - something he wouldn’t find out about until much later. Either way, whereas Obi-Wan and Yoda had deemed Anakin Skywalker to be dead as soon as he transitioned from Jedi Knight to Sith Lord - Bail didn’t share their opinion. Perhaps Obi-Wan had loved the boy too much to see the darkness in him, but Bail has noticed his dull edge early on. What little he _had_ gathered from Padmé when she would mention him, had only served to further his suspicions. 

____

Bail had been wary enough, knowing he’d need to keep his daughter, Leia, under wraps to hide her potential from the Emperor, were she to have inherited her father’s Force abilities. That was trouble enough, knowing the power of Palpatine whose cunning intellect had played both sides of The Clone Wars right into his own hands. No, worse yet was _this_. 

____

Leia was all of six ars old, and while Bail would have preferred to leave her behind on Alderaan with either his wife, Breha, or a handmaiden, or nursing droid - her big brown doe eyes pleading with him to attend the senate banquet with him had made him cave. It might be dangerous, but she hadn’t displayed any latent Force powers so he deemed it safe enough. She was his daughter, there was no reason for anyone to suspect where her biological heritage might come from. Except, once they arrived - little Leia dressed in a baby blue, frilly gown with puffy sleeves, befitting of her status as crown princess of Alderaan, and a sheer embroidered silver scarf resting over her narrow shoulders - the banquet had turned out to be preceeded by an unprepared gathering. Apart from Bail Organa himself, the small party involved Mon Mothma of Chandrila, Gall Trayvis, Burla Pao, Adrian Loto and Lafreeda Zint - all member of The Imperial Senate, as well active members of the organized secret Rebel Alliance. That in itself was enough to make Bail break into a nervous coldsweat. 

____

Still as the less than unwitting senators settled down, realizing far too late it may be a trap rather than an actual briefing - they were joined by three additional party members. The first two, Bail knew all too well. Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, with his receeding silver hair meticulously combed back; his piercing, steel gray eyes scanning the faces of each attendant. His thin lips twisted into a callous smile, as he gave a curt bow of greeting before settling down at the head of the long table. The warm mahogany shades of the unusually well decorated dining lounge seemed so much less inviting, his presence bringing everyone up on their toes. Bail felt Leia’s big, dark eyes study his expression as she peered up at him from the spot on his lap where she sat poised; before her gaze travelled over to Tarkin’s gaunt, lanky form. 

____

Hard on his heels strolled the newly appointed Captain Rae Sloane, whose prestige had gained her favours to climb the ladder after her aid had helped retract the Emperor himself unscathed after an assassination attempt over Ryloth; lead by a close ally to Bail himself, twi’lek freedom fighter Cham Syndulla. Her frizzy dark curls were tied back into a neat, tidy ponytail and she held her head high, confident in her newfound position. Bail had no doubts she possessed the ambition necessary to make a name for herself. It was the person to follow after her, that made Bail’s heart drop into his stomach. He gulped, and bit back the bitter taste of bile that welled up in his throat; hands suddenly unsteady as he held Leia closer to his body, as if that would help secure her. It didn't ease his nerves. 

____

Captain Sloane sat down on the chair next to Tarkin, looking suspiciously like his right hand woman, and the small smirk on her painted lips suited her. The third guest the Imperial party had brought along, no doubt as an intimidation factor as he cared little for politics, opted to stand silently to the left side of Tarkin’s chair. His strong arms were folded nonchalantly across his wide chest, the constant sound of his respirator giving off a rhythmic pattern - breathing in and out in steady intervals. Behind the trio, at least a dozen stormtroopers, armed and ready, loomed outside the hydraulic doorway. They stood immobile, the door locked on open as a grim reminder of their presence. But Bail didn’t even glance at their gleaming, polished white armors and helmets. Instead, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from _Darth Vader_ ; as the enforcer of the Emperor hovered like a makeshift harbinger of death right behind Tarkin. 

____

_Anakin Skywalker is dead_ , the Jedi exiles had said. But Bail had seen the holo recording, he had seen Emperor Palpatine - Sith Lord Darth Sidious - deem Anakin his new apprentice. Darth Vader, he had been dubbed. And Darth Vader was very much _alive_. 

____

There were no physical remnants of the man whom the girl queen and senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo had fallen so madly in love with. Gone was the unruly dark blonde hair, the stormy blue eyes, the cocky smirk, the boyish attitude. Instead, Vader came across more like a reaper. Clad in all black, billowing cape trailing behind him. Taller than Anakin had ever been, by at least a few inches. Bail remembered Anakin had been shorter than him, but Vader made even _him_ and his six foot three frame feel small; forced even him to tip his head backwards to meet the Sith Lord's gaze. Except, Vader’s gaze existed only as a pair of crimson, opaque lenses as eye holes for the face plate he wore. A mask, and helmet, concealing his identity. Making him unreadable, unpredictable. The mask itself eerily reminiscent of a human skull, with exaggerated and accented angles. As Bail peered uneasily down at Leia, he noted that her eyes, too, were glued to Vader’s form. 

____

“I suppose it’s about time I explain the idea behind our little rendez-vous,” said Tarkin’s shrewd, authoritative voice. 

____

“Please, do,” Mon Mothma agreed, faking a rather believeable smile as she invited one of her least favourite people in the world to take the lead. 

____

Vader didn’t move. Bail wasn’t sure whether he was listening, or simply lending his physical form as a prop for intimidation. Even as Bail tried his best to pay attention to Tarkin’s lengthy speech of the Emperor’s supposed faith in _this exact group of Imperial Senators_ \- a blatant lie they were all aware of - he failed to maintain his focus. Instead, he carefully watched Vader out of his periphery; feeling Leia squirm, unruly on his lap as she began to get bored and restless with the drawled lecture. 

____

“I was not aware there would be children present,” interrupted an unimpressed Vader, his tone booming and powerful as it ricocheted off the walls - in response to Leia’s annoyed grunt, as she attempted two wriggle loose from her adoptive father’s vice like grip. 

____

“I’m terribly sorry, Lord Vader. Senator Organa was not aware of your direct involvement, we were summoned on the behalf of the annual banquet, as you are aware. He came prepared for the festivities,” Mon Mothma was quick to inject; and Bail stifled a small sigh of relief. 

____

“I see. It is… unfortunate, that he lacks adequate foresight,” Vader replied, the short pause drawn out and premeditated, and Bail felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. 

____

To calm himself, he gently smoothed back Leia’s soft fishtail braid, looping it through his fingers and she huffed in protest. 

____

“I apologize, with all due respect. This is my daughter, and while I agree that it is not an optimal arrangement, there is little else I can do at this point,” he quickly said, to hopefully mend the situation and direct the attention away from himself and back towards the issue on the table. 

____

“I was under the presumption that you have little trouble gathering up servants upon request. A nurse would hardly be inssufficent for a man of your status.” 

____

Vader seemed to go for a matter of fact delivery, but his voice was as monotone as ever, filtered through the vocalizer as it altered his naturallyspeaking voice. Anakin had had a cheeky, but soft tone - sometimes whiny, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes kind. The dry sarcasm persisted, but all else seemed to have ebbed away until only the unnatural baritone of the modulizer remained. Vader shifted a tad, hooking his thumbs casually into his belt and Bail had to force himself not to clear his dry throat when he realized the man’s head was tilted ever so slightly in his - _and subsequently Leia’s_ \- direction. The words were a thinly veiled jab, but Bail didn’t reply. Instead, he carefully bounced Leia a bit on his lap to amuse her and she seemed to relent for a moment, though she was back to fiddling with his laced fingers, determined to break free. 

____

“Either way,” Tarkin picked up where he had been cut off, “ there is in fact a reason this security debriefing was deemed a necessity. The banquet will transpire as is tradition, but I was tasked with informing your particular parties of suspected terrorist activity in your immediate sectors. You are not being accused of anything, neither are you presumed to be involved with these nefarious activities. But, it is our duty as Imperial sovereigns, to warn you on behalf of the Emperor himself. Unfortunately, he will not be able to attend the festivities, much less this brief meeting. He does, however, send his best regards and my only priority is to forward his deepest condolences.” 

____

It was nothing they hadn’t heard before. 

____

In fact, Bail could count the very few and far between appearances the Emperor had made in person since the day he was announced as such. He blamed his physically marred features for his unwillingness to attend social ceremonies. Bail nodded, only half listening. 

____

It was uncomfortably _cold_. A frigid, dry, jagged sort of icy chill lingered in the tense air. Before the Imperial trio arrived, the company had been warm and friendly, though poignant with suspicion. Now, the space seemed cramped, constrictive and suffocating. As Bail tried to focus on the culprit of the eerie, uneasy sensation - he found its source without really trying. Stinging, piercing, sharp pin pricks emanated from Vader’s direction. As if his very aura, his Force signature as the Jedi called it, was oozing off him. As if the sensation of dread was part of his very core, as if it was emitted from him in a cloud of invisible, foggy haze. Its shadow fell upon the small group, trapping them in despair, contempt and an awkward stillness. Peforating every inch of their perimetry. 

____

That was the moment little Leia chose to make a break for it. 

____

With an agile twist, she rolled around full body and slipped promptly out of her father’s now slack grip. Bail flinched, already reaching out for her to restrain her yet again, but she ducked and avoided his hands. In an instant, all eyes were first on the viceroy's helpless expression as his clumsy hands fumbled through empty air for his daughter’s tiny form. Then, they travelled over to Leia who had already managed to slip underneath the table; dive between Sloane’s legs to crawl under her chair, and pop up right in front of Vader. He towered over her, even as he too appeared to be staring at her petite figure. Her cheeks were tinged pink, the cold of the room nipping at the tips of her ears and nose. One tiny hand clutched at the lace embroidered along the hem of her lavish dress; the other was thoughtfully rubbing her little chin as she tipped her head so far back, she nearly toppled over to peer inquisitively up at Vader. 

____

Bail was up on his feet in the blink of an eye, scrambling as he took a few rushed strides towards his daughter - and the Sith Lord. Vader regarded the small child, head tipped forward to grant him a better view through his seemingly cumbersome head piece. He said nothing, and Bail noticed the green and red blinking lights of Vader’s belt reflected in Leia’s large, dark eyes. He didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare tear his gaze away from the visage of his daughter standing in front of a child murderer, a monster - and unbeknownst to both her and him, her biological father. Bail’s outstretched hands retreated slowly, and he curled them into fists for lack of anything better to do with them. He let out a small gasp through an open mouth, and watched as it came out in a cloud of condensation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Tarkin’s amused expression, one silver eyebrow quirked at the display. 

____

“You’re cold,” proclaimed Leia in a high pitched tone after what seemed like an eternity. "You could get sick." 

____

Vader did not reply, but neither did he ignore or brush off the comment. Bail felt his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage, as he watched in awe while Leia promptly reached up to slide the flimsy fabric of her decorative scarf off her shoulders with a shrug. She pouted, determination furrowing her fine brows as she stood on her tiptoes. 

____

“This will help,” she declared proudly. 

____

Wobbling slightly, she raised her arms as far as they would go only to tuck the frilled end of her little ornate scarf into the crook of Vader’s sturdy elbow. He stood unrelenting, and Bail wasn’t sure whether he should be horrified by how uncanny the child’s resemblance to her late mother was when she smiled; a wide, toothy beam revealing the missing front tooth. He felt fear pooling in his belly, his stomach churning and his face pale as Leia took a step back to admire her handiwork and thoughtfulness. She clapped her hands, pleased with herself. Vader’s hollow eye sockets shifted to stare first at the small girl, then at the scarf that was barely wide enough to reach around his arm where it rested draped over his elbow. Then, whatever spell had transfixed him seemed to wear off, as he turned his head to lock eyes with Bail. Even through the face plate, Bail could readily feel the intensity and weight of the bewildered glare he was rewarded. It took all his resolve not to shrink back; his concern for Leia’s safety winning out as he hurriedly closed the gap between them to scoop his daughter up into his arms, and settle back down in his seat. Tarkin was first to break the tension, as he chuckled at the unexpected display. 

____

“You have raised a quite remarkable child, Senator Organa,” he said, his tone an odd mixture of snide and amused. “Let us hope she will grow up to develop your sense of propriety.” 

____

The rest of the meeting progressed rather effortlessly, a tirade of threats and insinuations hidden behind a facade of protocol politeness and curtesy. Bail had heard it before, although the knowledge that the Imperial fleet had detected suspicious movement around the Alderaan system did nag at the back of his mind as a foreboding warning. Leia settled down, silent and obedient as soon as she had carried out her mission. The room was still freezing cold, but Leia was warm to the touch; her skin soft, and her head heavy as she rested it against her father’s chest. Soon, she drifted off into the light, easy sleep only a satisfied child could muster. Her expression remained proud even in her sleep, as a dark brown strand of hair fell into her chubby little face. As the party said their goodbyes, concluding the meeting, Bail gathered up his sleeping daughter to close to his chest - protective and paranoid. 

____

When Bail exited, last in line, Vader lingered just outside the hydraulic doors. Tarkin, Sloane and the troopers were already retreating down the hall in the opposite direction - no doubt to touch up on their own appearances before the banquet come evening. Bail hoped Leia’s nap would give her enough energy to enjoy herself, seeing as there were more likely to be at least a few other children in attendance for her to play with. He hoped it'd help her forget the encounter, he didn't look forward to her asking questions about the Dark Lord. Still, as he moved to swiftly pass Vader, a chill went down his spine and he instinctively stopped; an inherent need to adress the man screaming at him to tread _lightly_. 

____

“Lord Vader. I must apologize for my daughter’s brash behaviour. She can be rambunctious, she has a mind of her own. It will not be repeated, I assure you,” he said, in what he hoped was a respectful voice as he turned towards the other man to face him. 

____

Vader stared dismissively down at him, his head tilting downwards as his gaze shifted to the sleeping Leia. She snored quietly, mumbling something intelligible as she rubbed her cheek against her father's frock. For a fretful instant, Bail felt terror wash over him as he dreaded the thought that perhaps Leia’s _obvious_ resemblance to Padmé was not lost on Vader. Perhaps, he had put it all together. Perhaps, the effort that had gone into hiding Leia’s true parentage had been in vain, to no avail. 

____

Hesitating, Bail held his breath as Vader reached into the left side of his inner robes - only to pull out the little, frail scarf he’d been offered. It was wrinkled, comically tiny where it rested across the Sith Lord’s large, gloved palm. He held it midair for a short moment, as an offering; as if unsure of what to do with it - and Bail took the opportunity to force out a hushed _‘thank you’_ , relief washing over him when he gently tugged at the end of the fabric and it slid effortlessly out of Vader’s loose grasp. 

____

“Indeed. I would expect as much. For _her_ sake,” Vader said as a reply to Bail's earlier attempted apology, and the impact of those words were not lost on him. 

____

Without further ado, Vader turned on his heel to stalk in a quick pace down the same corridor Tarkin and Sloane had disappeared along. Heart still thundering away in his chest, Bail watched the black shadow of his form disappear in the distance, menace of his presence dying away with it. He knew what that threat meant, and he was determined to honour Vader’s assessment. 

____

After all, Vader didn’t know the entire truth - and he was no stranger to spilling blood of the _innocent youth._

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I love the installments I've written for Leia and Vader so far in this fic, and I wanted to write something from Bail's POV. What better than to have him fear for his daughter's safety the very first time she is introduced to Darth Vader? Leia is so young, she doesn't remember this encounter later on and whatever she may recall she would chalk up to a fever dream or childhood fantasy. Bail, of course, never brings it up again except for to Breha in secret. 
> 
> Hence, my explanation for the existence of this chapter. Most of all, I wanted a different angle and take on the dread Vader emanates, and I'm glad to have another installment of this series out. It's been forever!
> 
> Tumblr link below:
> 
> https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/638228726903144448/the-mask-of-death-chapter-14-for-her-sake-vader  
> Enjoy!


	15. Legacy of a Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will not. I need to know why you killed them. Why you killed _her_ ,” Sabé pressed, hands beginning to tremble as they clung harder to the durasteel in her slender hands.
> 
> “You ask for answers you do not wish to hear,” Vader retorted, and to Sabé’s surprise - it was not only a reply, but the monotone conveyed no anger.

“You killed them.”

Vader stopped, and for a moment Sabé almost expected him to whirl around and finally snap. She’d expected him to be tougher, had expected to be dead already. Instead, she was bruised and battered from their last encounter - when she had tried and failed to prevent him from tarnishing the tomb of her beloved Queen and friend. Padmé would never have wanted such an oppressive, dark presence of an Empire she would have despised to taint her memory. Still, she had failed and not only that, she had lived despite her will to die an honourable death reclaiming her former mistress’ honour. She had been a handmaiden of Queen Amidala, and above that, a loyal friend. Padmé wanted freedom, Padmé wanted a Republic where every inhabitant of the Galaxy had an equally important voice. Vader represented the Emperor, the dictator whose authoritarian rule they must all succumb to. Palpatine may have been a child of Sabé’s beloved Naboo, but she would never recognize him as her true ruler.

“Why?” she found herself asking, her voice bouncing off of the cavernous stone walls of the cave surrounding them.

She had tracked Vader down. It had been difficult, nigh impossible. She’d bound together the Amidalans, together with Tonra and Typho. All indebted to Padmé, all grateful for her all too brief time in their lives.

Vader didn’t respond, but neither did he move away. Sabé ground her teeth together, ignoring the ache in her side from the broken ribs he had left her with. In fact all of the Amidalans had lived, even Olié who had come closest to meeting with death. Vader had stabbed him, but it was not fatal. Vader had a reputation for killing every enemy, for taking no prisoners. If anyone lived to tell the gruesome tale, it was by design. Vader wanted them to spread the rumours, wanted to build up his image of terror and dread. His sparing her life, especially in this moment when they were alone and no one would find her remains to decipher what had caused her demise, was vexing. It was frustrating.

Sabé hated Vader. Not merely what he stood for, or whom he served. She didn’t even directly hate his ruthless ways, she didn’t resent the blood of the innocents on his hands. She loathed him for destroying Padmé. He ruled Mustafar, Padmé had died in dubious circumstances concerning visiting Mustafar. So had her beloved Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker, a hero, a Jedi, an inspiration. Sabé had known, how could she not? Padmé had never said aloud, but Sabé had seen it, she had figured it out. Skywalker, too, had perished in the same unrecorded event. She blamed Vader, for who else could have bested a fighter and general of Skywalker’s caliber? Who else could have destroyed the pure hearted goodness of Padmé Amidala?

“Ask no more questions,” Vader simply rumbled, his mechanical breathing steady and evenly paced.

Sabé shook her head, taking a couple of hesitant steps towards the large, towering form of the man before her. He did not respond, and all Sabé could truly see in the dim, gloomy darkness was the sunlight beaming through cracks in the rock reflected against his polished domed helmet, and the billowing black cape that wrapped around his broad shoulders. It was cold, and Sabé wasn’t surprised. She had noted the freezing aura of his presence the very first time she ran into him, to lure him with her to Naboo in order to carry out the assassination attempt organized by her fellow Amidalans. Even on the bright, warm, sunny Summer day she had felt chills down her spine. She’d had goosebumps then, as she did now. Her breath came out in condensated puffs, but she would not relent. Keeping her trusty blaster close to her chest, although she knew it was only for show, she remained stubborn. 

“I will not. I need to know why you killed them. Why you killed _her_ ,” Sabé pressed, hands beginning to tremble as they clung harder to the durasteel in her slender hands.

“You ask for answers you do not wish to hear,” Vader retorted, and to Sabé’s surprise - it was not only a reply, but the monotone conveyed no anger.

Instead, there was a lingering sense of exasperation to the statement, as if Vader himself knew what his reasons were but had refused to come to terms with them as of yet. Loose gravel slid against the damp, slippery rock formation as Sabé approached with caution. The cold radiated off of him, nipping at her rosy cheeks. She tilted her head to the side, peering as much as she dared over the bulk of his shoulder but seeing only darkness ahead. She assumed he had some sort of night vision sensors built into that mask he wore.

“I would not ask for them if I wasn’t desperate to hear them.”

It was the truth. For over twenty years, Sabé and her fellow Amidalans had never stopped asking the question. Why? Why had Padmé died? Why had she travelled to Mustafar alone? Why had she not shared the name of the father of her child? Why had she been so secretive, despite the fact that most of her former court of handmaidens already knew the truth? Now, beholding the man who had taken Padmé’s life, Sabé refused to see him take the cowardly way out and avoid explaining himself. Still, Vader didn’t paint the imposing picture he had the first time she met him. He seemed sullen, withdrawn, perhaps even pained? It made little sense to her.

“I obviously can’t kill you, but I won’t die for lack of trying. Whatever it is you know, tell me. Who else am I supposed to share it with when I’m dead?” Sabé heard herself saying, and she contemplated whether she meant it only for a moment.

The answer was _yes_. She would die for Padmé, to avenge her death.

“You are mistaken. It is not you who has failed.”

Again, there was an almost melancholy note to Vader’s voice, despite the fact that nothing within its diction or pacing had changed. His voice was still manufactured, inhuman. But behind the mask, there must be something else. Something to unearth, something to discover. Sabé felt equally confused and frustrated with the situation, her agitation shutting out any fear she may be harbouring deep down for the Dark Lord.

“I will have failed if I cannot kill you, and I have come to terms with that. As such, I only need to know why you killed Anakin and Padmé. Were they intruding? Were they out to put you down to cripple the Empire? Did you just feel like it?”

Sabé narrowed her eyes, her gaze burning a hole in Vader’s back as she stared unrelenting at his cloaked form. This man did not deserve to even think of Padmé. Yet, she’d yet to hear him speak of Padmé with anything other than reverence. As if her name was forbidden for him to utter, as if he himself was aware that he was beneath her. Sabé almost gasped, stumbling a couple of steps backwards when Vader finally did turn halfway to face her. The dead lenses of his face plate looked back at her, their stare cold and dead and empty. His hands hung slack at his sides, and swallowing hard; Sabé expected him to kill her. Expected him to reach out with one hand and seize her neck in an invisible chokehold. The way he had done the first time she stood before him on Vendaxa, when he had allowed her to live. When he had mistaken her for Padmé.

“The first time I met you, why did you not kill me?”

There was no reply, but the meaning behind the silence rang loud and clear. Vader had not killed her, because he had assumed she was Padmé. Hadn't he killed her? Shouldn’t he know she was dead? Still, he had hesitated, believing her to be the former Queen. They did possess an uncanny resemblance, it had led her to become one of Padmé’s decoys in the first place. Even their mothers had struggled to tell them apart, which had only furthered their cause in keeping Padmé safe during her time on the throne. Even now, she was alive. Even now, she could breathe freely as she stared death in the eye.

“You believed I was Padmé, didn’t you? But if you killed her, why would you assume such a thing?” she continued, but yet again her only answer was an eerie silence.

A heavy, tense silence. Wearing her thin, dragging the seconds of time passing out into what felt like hours. Sabé sighed, hanging her head. He would never relent, he would never speak. Killing him would offer her no peace, if he would not share the truth. He was the only person who knew what had happened, and if he did not speak, there was no way to resolve her suspicions. He had admitted to killing Padmé, and Skywalker, but not how. Not when. Not why. All of these question marks without a resolution. A riddle that could not be solved.

“The japor snippet found in the Queen’s tomb.”

Vader’s voice cut through the air like a knife, making Sabé wince as it echoed all around her; a multifaceted statement. It did not answer her questions, and she scowled and she attempted to study the unfeeling expression of his mask.

“What are you talking about?” she huffed, but as soon as the words were out; an inquisitive curiosity began to wonder why he had chosen to address that little trinket.

“Was she buried with it?” Vader continued, paying no mind to Sabé’s perplexed expression.

“Yes. Yes, she was. She wore it often, it appears to have meant a great deal to her,” Sabé clarified, still failing to see how it mattered. “I do not know its meaning.”

“ _I_ do,” said Vader, and despite Sabé’s instant desire to scoff at the preposterous profession; she found she couldn’t.

Instead, it felt earnest. Vader sounded sincere, and while she refused to believe there was a single scrap of human emotion or empathy in the man; she could feel the solemn sadness of his aura bearing down on her shoulders like a sodden weight. As if she had been unwittingly made to carry his burdens, and his suffering. She blinked, her legs suddenly feeling weak beneath her as they wobbled but she ignored it.

“That’s nonsense,” Sabé spat. “The only other person who would know its meaning---”

“Is the person who forged it,” Vader interrupted.

Sabé blinked, and there was a gnawing unease settling at the pit of her belly. There was a voice at the back of her mind, nagging at her. She ignored it, but the more she tried to force it aside, the more it demanded her attention. Fingers curling tighter around the blaster, she heard her voice wavering as she spoke again.

“Anakin made it for her.”

Sabé needed no response to know it was true. The tiny, hand carved wooden piece of jewelry had been simple and bare bones when compared to Padmé’s impressive wardrobes and her thousands of embezzled necklaces. Still, she often picked the unbecoming, clumsy trinket above her splendid diamond, ruby and sapphire heirlooms. Padmé, who never wore a dress twice. She would not part with the necklace, and so, she had been buried with it. It had been the physical item she’d held highest in regard in life. Skywalker had made it for her, had painstakingly carved it out of the rare pieces of wood he may have found while kept as a slave. It was as if she could visualize the scene, as if she could see the small blonde boy; sitting cross legged in a rugged hut, lining the details meticulously with a small blade. A handmade gift fit for a Queen.

“Yes,” Vader said, but the acknowledgement seemed to be directed more towards her direct thoughts, than her words.

“How would you know? Who _are_ you, really?” Sabé grimaced, raising her voice as the unease grew into full blown dread.

Vader began to turn back away from her, stalking unhindered by the darkness as he continued forward into the deep abyss of the cave. Sabé didn’t know what he was doing, of why he was there. She couldn’t tell what had possessed him to come to Tytloh, and it’s bleary, gray wildlife. Little could survive here, and although the planet was rumoured to have held a grand meaning for Force wielders in the old Republic, it lay in tatters now. Uninhabited, unless you counted lowlife pirates and smugglers. A man of Vader’s power should find little need to come here, and Sabé suspected she would never get an answer to that question either.

“Perhaps, if I had never offered her the piece, she may have lived.”

Sabé felt her legs give out under her own weight, as if all strength had been sucked out of her. As if the will to go on had been torn from her spirit. As she sunk to her knees in the muck and slippery algae covering the cavern’s innards - she gasped. Vader was already gone, vanished in the darkness as if he had never been there at all. As if he were a demon who had returned to the hole from which he came. As if he had been a figment of her imagination, and for a moment Sabé almost second guessed herself, and she almost believed he had.

_I_ , he had said.

Sabé understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've been wanting to write something based off of the 2020 Vader comic where Vader visits Padmé's tomb, from Sabé's POV. Hence, this one is very much inspired by that, as a sort of compliant follow up to where they left off. I understand why they left it open, but I would have loved to see Sabé realize the truth about Vader, and who he really is. I found it worked as another installment for this mini series, and thus this chapter was born. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	16. Slips of the Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he followed through, he almost regretted the choice. Initially, he had been sent to relay information to Grand Moff Tarkin. It was the usual debriefing, catching up in person every six weeks. In between, there’d be transmissions and holomessages. Initially, Grand Admiral Thrawn had been dispatched to join. Key word was _initially_. Instead of the semi regular procedure, Tarkin had been called off to oversee director Krennic’s progress on the beginnings of the 'secret weapon of the Empire'; The Death Star. Thrawn had been delayed, foiled by a baited trap laid by rebel forces. Hence, when Yularen made his case to the Emperor himself; the most powerful man in the Galaxy had asked him not to worry, and assured him that he would be adequately received. There was a standin he may relay his findings to. Yularen had hoped that the cryptic, musing tone the Emperor used meant nothing. Still, he had already suspected whom he would have the pleasure of dealing with before the hydraulic doors slid open.
> 
> He wasn’t wrong.

Colonel Wullf Yularen would like to say he was comfortable with his position within the Empire. He would like to say that he was proud of the transition he’d made from the Republic era, into the new era of dictatorship; maintaining his rank as one of the military figureheads. In a Galaxy torn apart by civil war, with a rising number of small factions joining the Rebel Alliance to revolt, he would like to say his job was as secure as they come. With no end in sight - although that wasn’t for the Empire’s lack of trying, as they doubled down on their efforts to persecute and eliminate the competition - he looked forward to a stable future, with a stable income, and a stable hand to play. 

From admiral, to colonel, little had changed. But even he had his limits, and though he had once fought for the Republic naval forces - teamed up with the most reckless of Jedi generals - the man he had been paired with to overview the latest reports from the Imperial Security Bureau made even _him_ feel tense and uncomfortable.

As he followed through, he almost regretted the choice. Initially, he had been sent to relay information to Grand Moff Tarkin. It was the usual debriefing, catching up in person every six weeks. In between, there’d be transmissions and holomessages. Initially, Grand Admiral Thrawn had been dispatched to join. Key word was _initially_. Instead of the semi regular procedure, Tarkin had been called off to oversee director Krennic’s progress on the beginnings of the 'secret weapon of the Empire'; The Death Star. Thrawn had been delayed, foiled by a baited trap laid by rebel forces. Hence, when Yularen made his case to the Emperor himself; the most powerful man in the Galaxy had asked him not to worry, and assured him that he would be adequately received. There was a standin he may relay his findings to. Yularen had hoped that the cryptic, musing tone the Emperor used meant nothing. Still, he had already suspected whom he would have the pleasure of dealing with before the hydraulic doors slid open.

He wasn’t wrong. 

He heard the even, rhythmic breathing cycle of a periodic respirator before he saw the man. Back turned towards him, Darth Vader stood with his hands folded behind his back; peering out through the floor length viewport of an office in what had once been the Galactic Senate. He appeared to be eyeing the setting sun, as it crawled lazily along the horizon; the coruscanti cityscape and its towering buildings mere shadows set against its dying orange rays. Keeping his head held high, Yularen entered and approached the freshly revised holoprojector planted in the middle of the room. Eyeing first Vader’s looming figure, the light reflected in the polished durasteel of his domed helmet, Yularen opted to trigger the fanning shades. The room would need to be darker, at least this close to twilight. He knew Vader was already aware of his presence, even as the shades began to unfold, covering the vast viewport inch by inch.

“Colonel Yularen,” said Vader promptly, his deep voice rumbling as he finally turned to look at the other man.

“Lord Vader,” Yularen greeted in turn, with a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I regret the circumstances demanding your attendance. I know this is well beyond your disposition.”

“Indeed. however, it occurs to me that little can be done to alter the issue at the moment. As such, we may proceed. I have been informed that you carry news of great interest to the Empire. I shall see to it that they are adequately conveyed - granted that I deem them worthy of such note.”

Yularen pursed his lips into a thin line, but offered another nod. 

He’d always been unnerved in Vader’s presence. Sure, the times they found themselves forced to cooperate had been few and far between. But there was an uncanny quality to Vader, one Yularen had never sensed with another being. He remembered the days of the Clone Wars, commanding vast star fleets in direct battle. He remembered powerful Jedi knights, remembered the mystical, near whimsical aura they seemed to surround themselves with. Perhaps it was inherent to their nature, perhaps it was just their way of carrying themselves. He had seen the Force work in impossible ways; this unseen power, the root of the Jedi’s ancient religion. It was genuine, as real as the air he breathed. He had even spent an uncomfortable amount of time in the presence of a Sith Lord. Count Dooku had once been restrained on his vessel, albeit briefly, in holding before his separatist forces - led by the dreaded cyborg General Grievous - had come to his aid. Dooku’s veneer, his cold yet sophisticated flair, had been unsettling. There had been a chill in the air, much like a crisp, early autumn morning. One where dew became thin layers of frost, and ice crystals bloomed along branches and vegetation. Reminiscent of the freezing temperatures of Orto Plutonia, or Hoth, or Ilum.

Vader possessed the same icy cold quality, the same ability to suck any warmth out of every room he entered - but much amplified. The first time, Yularen had been surprised to find his fingertips numb when he left a meeting where Vader had been in attendance. Exactly how much of this imposing aura the man had direct control over, Yularen couldn’t say, but it seemed to vary from time to time. 

Sometimes, there would be no more than the odd shiver running up your spine, as a sudden icy breeze wisps past your neck. Other times, it would be so cold, you’d find it difficult to stand still or keep your teeth from clattering. This evening, Vader appeared to be planted somewhere firmly between the two. No extreme frostbite, but enough to lessen what should have been welcoming, gentle rays of the sinking sun. Their mellow, golden lure disappeared behind the durasteel shades and the room was submerged in a gray, dim darkness before Yularen promptly accessed the map function and tapped in the adequate coordinates. The blue, wobbling glow almost felt reassuring when trapped in such a confined space with Vader.

“Jedha. I remain unintrigued,” said Vader, approaching slowly with heavy strides.

He came up beside Yularen, his large dark clad frame taking to the darkness like a duck to water. The blinking lights of his chest- and belt-boxes seemed almost hypnotic, alternating between bright greens and reds. Yularen glanced at the man’s face; the mask covering it never giving a scrap of emotion away. Stoic, frozen in a perpetual mockery of death. It resembled a skull, more than anything else; angled, black, stylized. Its gaping eyeholes fixated on the miniature holoimage of the planet overview in front of them.

“Actually, I was relying on you to fill me in on the importance of this particular planet. As I have been informed, we are intending to mine Jedha, but I have yet to learn what for. It appears indepth records regarding its history are… obscured. Ancient, yes, but I must admit I have never ventured close to its orbits,” Yularen began and cleared his throat, knowing that there was no better way to subdue the cynical beast that was Darth Vader; than to offer him an opening to share his own knowledge.

Many of Yularen’s fellow high ranking officers viewed Vader as a brute, a monster, and a mercenary. Little more than the hitman the Emperor dispatched when all else failed, when all semblances of negotiation fell through. Yularen knew better. He knew Vader was clever, he knew that Vader had the skill necessary to preplan and carry out complex schemes. While others may underestimate the man - especially those who had never existed in Vader’s presence - Yularen had a hunch for looking out for himself, and watching his own back. Stroking Vader’s ego would at least offer him free brownie points, much like they had done when he worked the same tactics on general Skywalker years ago.

“Neither have I, but I have… obtained the knowledge required to comprehend its importance to the Emperor’s machinations. Jedha is the root of a sect, dedicated to worshipping the Force. They revere it as their God, and while they follow the same false dogma that once belonged to the Jedi; they are insignificant. They are being closely monitored, for their bending of the law. I have been predisposed to interfere, should they alter their nature of compliance.”

“So they pose no threat?”

Vader nodded, as much as his helmet allowed him as he shifted to fold his arms defiantly across his broad chest. Yularen had always found that particular habit of Vader’s irked him, it took him back in time to the olden days. It made him ponder what may have happened to Skywalker, once the Jedi purge was begun. Once the Jedi were declared traitors of the Empire. Somewhere, his subconscious already knew the answer, and he refused to accept it. Much as he understood the consequences, Yularen had grown somewhat fond of that rowdy, unorthodox Jedi. Skywalker, who had a tendency to mimic the near exact same pose Vader was now holding. Back straight, arms folded, head held high. A small part of Yularen, would hope that he had somehow fled. That he had seen the error of his ways. 

But that hope was futile, and best kept hidden.

“Perhaps in the future they might, but at the moment, no. The capital is a cesspool of misguided religious doctrines. The most prevalent cult practices non-violence, and they will succumb. If the Force wills it so, they will yield.”

“We’re not hunting Force wielders then, I take it,” Yularen hummed, keeping Vader in his peripheral at all times as he zoomed in; the aurebesh stats of what was only referred to as The Holy City greeting him.

“We are not. What we _are_ hunting is their resources. These pitiful souls have long ago erected a temple to appease their skewed view of the Force. We are to exploit, and mine their deposit of kyber crystals - the true foundations of their reverence.”

Yularen scowled, skimming through the vitals of the planet. Breathable oxygen atmosphere, frosty climate with permanent winters. Feeling the hairs at the back of his neck rise, he ignored the tendrils of sharp, icy needles that seemed to radiate from Vader’s direction. The brunt of their assault focused on his right shoulder; wrenging themselves like unseen hooks underneath his skin. Impossible to shake off, or ignore. Like icicles, buried within his own flesh. 

This was more like it, more like the near painful sensation of spending any time in Vader’s close proximity Yularen was used to. This was why he had dreaded the encounter.

“I presume this is to be our resolution, to replenish our resolve once Illum runs dry," he muttered, mostly to make a mental note to himself.

“Precisely.”

Yularen had had his suspicions, and was glad to see them confirmed. He knew he would have been debriefed on the status of Jedha and its importance to the Empire eventually, but he prefered to be one step ahead. He suspected Vader knew as much, and was humoring him by granting him this little tidbit of classified information. At least something good had come of their forced reunion.

“But, as I recall, _I_ was not summoned here to educate _you_. You have a report for me, is that not so?” Vader continued after a short pause.

“Of course, my lord. My reasons for bringing Jedha up harken from the issue that we have detected unreported activity in the star systems surrounding the planet. We suspect rebel forces are attempting to establish a subdivision in the area,” Yularen was quick to explain, unwilling to keep Vader waiting and wear on his infamously thin patience.

“And what gives you these suspicions, Colonel? I suggest you provide me with reliable sources for your concerns.”

As Yularen had expected, Vader’s disinterest in the situation shone through. Vader had always come off as someone who saw himself as above pesky politics, but the Rebel Alliance had become an underground threat to be reckoned with. Much as Yularen suspected it must be more entertaining for someone of Vader’s prowess to hunt down befitting foes, he was required to scare the offshoots into submission by the Emperor’s orders. Neither of them could complain about the task offered to them.

“We have intercepted encrypted transmissions, and as such have been granted permission to dispatch a secondary garnison of stormtroopers to scout out the situation on spot.”

“If all this has already been accomplished, I fail to see how it relates to _me_ ,” Vader said, and despite the tinny, somewhat metallic tone to his voice; it came off as close to a scoff as Yularen figured Vader could manage.

Another thing Yularen had grown accustomed to while waging war aside general Skywalker - that had turned out to be a benefit when dealing with Vader - was Skywalker’s impatience, his adventurous spirit, and his unwillingness to carry diplomatic or political conversations. They’d got along well, once Yularen learnt not to try to draw Skywalker into discussing subjects he either didn’t understand, or simply thought he was too intelligent to have to deconstruct. And Skywalker was no idiot, he had been quick witted and skilled, but if there were negotiations to be had - Yularen would be relieved whenever general Kenobi was brought along to play the part on dual missions.

Now, there was no Kenobi to ease a disinterested party back into the discussion.

“Pardon me, Lord Vader, but that is what a debriefing requires. I am certain you are as aware of this as I am,” he pointed out, the scowl still dug into his brow.

“Perhaps, but it is not my duty to register these accomplishments,” Vader shot back, and he shifted to meet Yularen’s gaze head on.

“It’s not optimal, no, but we’ll have to make do. However, you are correct in that it is not a _direct_ necessity.”

Yularen almost smirked at his own idea, and a part of him wished he had come up with this excuse before the inevitable meeting.

“Are you suggesting breaking protocol?”

Yularen quirked an eyebrow at that, and instead of the usual wave of apprehension Vader would instill him with; he could _swear_ he detected an amused curiosity. Shrugging, the mental image of Skywalker smirking at his suggestion that they bypass customs just this once flashing before his inner vision, he cautiously let his guard down and scrolled through a couple of planets and systems he had reports on. He knew they would be of little to no interest to Vader, so he might as well skip them. He would need to write a digital predisposed copy of the overhaul at a later date anyhow. While Tarkin or Thrawn may have been thrilled to discuss tactics and strategies - Yularen figured there was no point in wasting either his or Vader's time on trivial drabble. He stopped when he located the one instance that may still peek some interest in his companion.

“Not quite. Simply bypassing irrelevant data. I believe this, however, may be of use to your likes, my lord,” he finally answered, and dared a hint of a coy smile before settling back into his more rigid, professional demeanor.

“Explain,” was all Vader said, but he had visibly shifted to a more attentive posture, albeit with his arms still folded to make a point.

“I will assume you know Waruuk for its… unsavory reputation. Run by crime syndicates, spice cartels, smuggling rings, slave traders - you name it, they have it.”

“I reckon you have a valid reason for bringing a planet built on scum up.”

Yularen felt the ire simmering from Vader but was intent on not shying away, pulling up the stats and indexes for the planet in question. He let Vader eye them for a moment, and as he had anticipated, the temperature of the room began to rapidly decline. From a cool, almost neutral environment; he now found himself in a hostile, freezing embrace. Its nature was oppressive, its artificial chill seeping into the colonel’s bones.

“ _Vos_ ,” Vader spat, and Yularen almost flinched at the unfiltered disgust bleeding through what was for all intents and purposes a monotone voice.

 _Force wielder, possible Jedi. Male. Physical attributes in line with primary target, Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. Records incomplete, further investigation required_ ; a tiny sidescreen note proclaimed, one Yularen had set aside from his own files. He had never intended to show it directly to Thrawn or Tarkin, unless actively questioned about it. What he had intended, was to transcribe it to Vader.

“Yes. I cannot be completely certain, but there have been recorded sightings of a supposed Jedi in these parts. I presume it would have reached your ears eventually, but I happen to know you prefer to have the news broken to you in person.”

Vader peered at him again, and Yularen found pride in the flat facial expression he managed to maintain as he was being meticulously studied. The gaze felt burdensome, but instead of the usual dismissive air to it; it came off as grateful, in a distant, wary sort of manner. That, too, reminded Yularen of general Skywalker. 

Skywalker, who was barely more than a teenager when put in command. Skywalker, who was brash, and unable to adequately give or take compliments. He’d come into his own, as the war waged on. But those first few months, there had been several incidents of heated arguments and stubborn headbutting. With time, Skywalker had grown to respect Yularen’s advices, and his suggestions. In turn, Yularen had learnt to respect Skywalker compassion, and wit. They’d become a proper team. 

Briefly, Yularen wondered whether Vader would hunt down _Skywalker_ with a similar vigor to other Jedi, was he to learn the man had lived.

“You are correct. Others would be wise to follow your lead in their approach,” Vader simply stated in what was probably as close to a compliment as the man could muster, before immediately turning on his heel to head towards the single exit way. “Have the coordinates transmitted to my comlink. I shall investigate this Jedi traitor’s whereabouts _in person_.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Yularen replied, but Vader was already long gone, stalking down the corridor at an impressive walk speed; black cape billowing behind him and guard troopers scrambling out of the way.

Without thought, Yularen picked up his personal comlink device and brought up the adequate files Vader had requested from his private notebook. On autopilot, he dialled the five digit signal by muscle memory and pressed transmit. Then he froze, the colour draining from his face as he stared in wide eyed horror at the error he had committed. He became acutely aware of the fact that he had never sent Vader direct private messages before; and so, he didn’t know the man’s wavelength. He felt his stomach lurching, the sinking sensation in his chest. He must have been too distracted by the memories of the bright eyed young Jedi he'd once called friend, realizing too late that the number he’d typed belonged to _general Skywalker_. It buffered, but could not be cancelled. Instead of being dismissed, it went through with a chirping beep of approval. 

But that was not the reason for the cold sweat breaking out along Yularen’s creeping hairline, his racing heartbeat, or the taste of bile rising at the back of his throat.

The encrypted transmission sent to Skywalker’s wavelength was successfully _received_. 

The receiver was computed as Darth Vader’s private comlink unit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is perhaps not as scary as the others, but I think the impact still hits home. I wanted to write the dynamic between Vader and Yularen, and have been wanting to do so for a long time. Thus, I figured Yularen would be reminded of Anakin in Vader's presence, but not quite put it all together until... well, see for yourself. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, I had tons of fun with the lore and artistic liberty in this installment, if nothing else!
> 
> (Yes, the end may be a bit... I dunno, but I really wanted to have that conclusion in there, and it may be a bit forced, but I like it anyway. Sue me!)
> 
> Tumblr link below:
> 
> https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/639866589360062464/slips-of-the-mind-the-mask-of-death-series


	17. More Frightening Than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"May I fill you in on Lord Vader. He will henceforth be overviewing your progress, and as such he makes the rules in my stead. Do not fail him. To fail him, is to fail me."_

_"May I fill you in on Lord Vader. He will henceforth be overviewing your progress, and as such he makes the rules in my stead. Do not fail him. To fail him, is to fail me."_

The Grand Inquisitor remembered the Emperor's words well. Vader had been a mysterious presence, during his first introduction to him. Being used to the Emperor's ice cold aura, his presence steeped in his deep connection with the Dark Side, the Inquisitor had thought Vader would allow him to let down his guard if only slightly. The issue was reconciling with how wrong he had been. 

While Darth Sidious was indeed extremely powerful with the Force, to a point where he needn't even display his powers - they reverberated through his entire being, bleeding out and tainting the very atmosphere around him. Consuming the air, like a pestilence or plague, rapidly spreading and perforating everything it touched. His malice shone through his golden, glowing eyes. The hatred, the anger, the mania easy to pinpoint and revere accordingly. 

You knew where to tread lightly with the Emperor, knew when he was predisposed to indulge in his sadistic leniency. Vader was an enigma. He may not reek of the same unquestionable, undeterred might, but with his face covered; it was impossible to read him. You could never tell whether he was serious, which may lead to a prompt death sentence, or using his dry sarcasm simply to rile you up and keep you on your toes.

The rest of the Inquisitorius had been skeptically inclined towards Vader upon the first revelation of their new, additional master. Their group had been compiled to serve the Emperor, as their one true master. Still, when faced with a second Dark Lord of the Sith, their protests seemed to die away. Their complaints soon died away. The Grand Inquisitor understood their resilience, but also their inherent acceptance. He too had been against the proposition, until the moment Vader stood before him. Until Vader bested him in battle with zero effort. He remembered the rush of fighting what he presumed to be another fallen Jedi, another selfish Force wielder wishing to learn the secrets of the Jedi and their vast archives.

He knew now that he had been overconfident, and arrogant. He had assumed he was winning, that Vader - whom he did not yet know - was losing. Instead, he found Vader had only toyed with him. Like a predator, playing with its prey. Vader had easily disarmed him, once he decided to actually put some semblance of effort into the battle. One swing, and the Inquisitor’s double saber went flying through the air, skidding across the marble floors of the vandalized remnants of what was once the coruscanti Jedi temple. If not for the Emperor’s interference, the Inquisitor knew he would have died. Vader had been ready to execute him for his insolence, for his naive beliefs that he could ever measure up. 

That was the point during which the Inquisitor understood that he was only an extension of the Empire, not the Emperor himself. That role was already occupied by _Darth Vader_.

Over time, he became used to the idea. The Grand Inquisitor had already witnessed mercilessly Vader execute the Second Sister for her betrayal, he’d seen the man sever the Sixth Brother’s arm from his body to teach him about loss, and respect. To teach him to fear. The Inquisitor knew better than to voice his disapproval outright, although he might have questioned Vader’s brutal tactics. Each and every Inquisitor of his order had been left with a clean cut limb, a broken body part, one of their senses forever ripped away from them. The Grand Inquisitor understood it to be personal, but knew better than to ask. He knew to bite his tongue, and file away what little glimpses of information Vader might let out unthinking. Granted, these scraps were few and far between. But they were there, and they offered valuable insight.

“They do not understand loss,” Vader had stated, as his one reason for decimating the members of the Inquisitorius physically, “and they never will.”

Vader had turned on his heel, ready to leave the conversation at that. Still, something inside the Grand Inquisitor made him speak up. Urged him to defend his skilled comrades, his group of Jedi killers - none of whom compared to Vader.

“That is hardly fair, the Inquisitors are formidable fighters,” he heard himself saying, as he trailed behind Vader, rushing to catch up with the man’s steady, quick stride but falling behind anyway. “They are former Jedi.”

“Precisely. And they fight as such. They have been taught defensive measures, that a battle can be won with two survivors. This is an infectious error that must be remedied,” Vader simply stated, his deep tone quick to deliver the underlying warning that perpetrated his Force signature - watch your tongue, it whispered.

The Inquisitor had chosen not to reply directly, instead he’d simply bowed his head at Vader’s back in silent acknowledgement. He wanted to argue his point, and though he knew better than to poke the sleeping lylak, he had been naive at the time. He had not yet understood the dire situation he was in.

“This goes for _all_ of you,” Vader added, his tone dropping even lower as he stopped to peer solemnly over his broad shoulder.

“You find us pathetic. The Emperor believes in my abilities, yet you disapprove. I am no longer the master of our organization, you are. As such, you must own our shortcomings. If we fail, you will have to take the fall.”

Vader slowly turned around as the words registered; his tall, bulky frame looming large as the unseen stare of his covered eyes bore down on the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor himself restrained himself from shuddering, well accustomed to the Dark Side and its perpetrating chill. But Vader was something else entirely, reminiscent of an empty void sucking in any remaining light into his orbit and vanquishing it. Like a black hole nothing escapes, not even light. The hollow, red tinted lenses of Vader’s faceplate seemed to glare at him, but for a moment, the Inquisitor almost thought Vader to be displaying some sort of coy curiosity as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

“You are correct. I do find you pathetic indeed. I am well aware of what you lack, and as such, I am willing to provide an alternative to raise the odds and change you into something less of a liability. I believe in change, if the Force wills it so,” the Sith pointed out, while poignantly folding his arms across his chest.

The Inquisitor scanned Vader’s unyielding mask for answers, but all he could make out was sharp angles, the dim light of the winding dark corridor bouncing off of the polished surface of the man’s domed helmet.

“You do not believe me and my kin are worthy of your time, yet we are still here on the Emperor’s behalf. Why do you believe that is?”

The Inquisitor hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but he felt he had little control over his speech. It felt as if his words were being actively dragged out of him, as if his thoughts had been conjured by an outside force. Another chill went down his spine, when the thought that perhaps Vader was compelling him to talk crossed his mind.

The palpable darkness that began to pour off of Vader was unbearable; intimidating and decimating. The Inquisitor had thought himself strong with the Force - especially with his Jedi training in hindsight - but now he found himself questioning that assumption. The aura Vader gave off felt solid, as if it was physically weighing him down; the air tense and trembling and freezing. So cold it made his skin prickle, and burn as if frostbitten. 

The Inquisitor flexed his fingers unconsciously, a trait he’d picked up as a padawan in the temple to ease his nervousness. A trait his former master had desperately attempted to turn him off of, a trait he had deliberately picked back up once freed from the reigns of the Jedi and their lies, out of spite. Listening to the deep, raspy breathing of Vader’s respirator only served to unnerve him further, but backing away would be a display of weakness. Vader would not take lightly to weakness on display. He demanded submission, but not cowardice.

“I do not question my master’s ways, and neither should you. I will overlook your pettiness for now, but tread carefully in the future,” Vader warned, as he raised one large gloved hand to point its index finger at the Inquisitor’s pale face.

Still, as Vader began to shift away from him, the Grand Inquisitor needed to ask the one question that had been burning inside of him for what seemed like an eternity. Or, perhaps, he was once again being urged to verbalize his thoughts by that unseen, sinister chill poking and prying at the periphery of his mind.

“The Emperor would have let me kill you, wouldn’t he? When he first introduced us. He wanted to see who was the strongest, who made for a worthy apprentice.”

“Yes… and no,” said Vader cryptically, as he once more paused mid-motion. “You are insignificant in the grand scheme of things, as is your misplaced sense of entitlement. If you had indeed been powerful enough to threaten me, the Emperor would have let the Force decide my fate. But, as is, you are futile. You are insufficient, insignificant, and you would be dead had he not engineered your salvation.”

Swallowing hard, the Inquisitor nearly stumbled backwards when Vader took one big step forward, closing the distance between them to tower imposingly over the man. Ashamed of letting his fear shine through as soon as he managed to catch himself, The Inquisitor bit back the gasp of surprise that wanted to flee his throat. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, eyes wide and alert. He knew Vader could sense his insecurity, his nervousness. To his chagrin, he earned a wave of direct amusement from Vader’s Force signature; it was clearly intended for him to pick up on, to degrade him further. Designed to remind him of his place. Vader was not the sadist the Emperor was, he was not taking pleasure in his insidious tactics - but he was not going to let arrogance slide.

“Take this as a further note of warning, Grand Inquisitor. There is nothing grand to you, if your title is stripped away. You will fail me eventually. How long it takes, is up to you. Either way, when you do fail - and you will - I will be there. I do not forget incompetence, and I do not forgive.”

Those words, the Grand Inquisitor had never forgotten. Even after the conversation ended, even after Vader had left him to plan ahead and prepare for the imminent hunt of Jocasta Nu, the former Jedi Temple’s archivist. The Inquisitor despised her, but his hatred and his delight in being offered the opportunity to track down and eliminate her was dulled by the wary, tense anxiety brewing in his belly. The mark Vader had left on him, after invading his mind. After drawing words he had never wanted to say out of his mouth. And with time, that anxiety grew to something far more potent, and prominent. With time, arrogance gave way to compliance. Do Vader’s bidding, or die. There was no other option. Thus, the Inquisitor made a solemn choice. 

Were he ever to fail, he would die by his own hand. After all; there are some things _far_ frightening than death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favourite chapter, and it's very much based on one of the in canon encounters between Vader and the Grand Inquisitor. I wanted to delve a little more into their dynamic, and to add some depth and nuance to a canon moment I happen to enjoy. Hope this isn't too much of a drag, see it as me attempting to try out more different styles!

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me wanting to write a oneshot portraying Vader being as menacing and downright terrifying as possible, but it has since spiraled out of control and developed into full standalone chapter fic with 12 installments written so far; and it should clock in at about 20 - 25 when finished altogether. You may also find updates at my tumblr acc @stuffilikeipostno2. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!


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